


The North Remembers

by WolfQueenKissedByFire



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And Now My Fuck Watch Has Ended, Bathtub Sex, Ben Wa Balls, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Discipline, Dom Jon Snow, Dom Sansa Stark, Episode Fix-it, F/M, Filthy Night's Watch Vows, Fingerfucking, First Time, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow Striptease, Jon Snow Went To Massage School, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Political Jon Snow, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 08 AU, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spanking, Squirting, Sub Jon, Sub Sansa, Sweet/Hot, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Orgasm That Was Promised, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2020-03-08 19:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18901495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfQueenKissedByFire/pseuds/WolfQueenKissedByFire
Summary: “Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?”Jon’s eyes flicker up to meet Sansa’s, visibly swallowing his discomfort. Is it getting hot in here? What can she mean by that? Her eyes are unreadable but her mouth, that sweet mouth...tells another story.Chapter 13 to be posted by Feb 9, 2020!





	1. Winterfell

 

“Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?”

Jon’s eyes flicker up to meet Sansa’s, visibly swallowing his discomfort. _Was it getting hot in here? What could she mean by that? Her eyes were unreadable but her mouth_ , that sweet mouth, _told another story. There’s no way she could be jealous of the Dragon Queen, could she? Gods Jon, get your thoughts under control._ He had just bathed, it was a cold winter night and still, her expression is relighting the fire inside that he tried so desperately to stifle since he left her for Dragonstone. A wicked thought crosses his mind. _Damn his bastard blood_. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

Jon closes the space between them until he can feel the warmth radiating off her, smelling the subtle aroma of lemons in her hair. Sansa stands her ground still as a statue, her face a mask of calm while her heart beats wildly. _What is he playing at?_ Jon grabs her elbow, leaning in to whisper in her ear. 

“Because we trust each other. Because you told me to be smarter than Father and smarter than Robb. So I am, or at least I’m trying. Let me prove to you that I never stopped protecting you, our family and the North.The walls have ears so, for now, I’ll leave you with this.”

His breath is warm on her ear, her cheek. His words are innocent, but she could’ve sworn his voice went deeper, huskier. She closes her eyes and savors his closeness, confident that he wouldn’t see her indulge in this secret pleasure. Sansa shivers as the whiskers of his beard brush lightly against her ear as he emphasizes _protecting you._ The fireplace crackles loudly as a log burst into ember. The sound snaps Sansa out of her thoughts.

_I trust you. I have faith in you. I believe in you. I love you more than I should. Oh seven hells, he’s looking at me_.

Jon pulls away to consider Sansa’s face. _She looks less composed than normal_. He takes in her flushed cheeks and open mouth for the few seconds they exist before she returns to her standard Lady of Winterfell expression. He feels satisfied he has the answer he's hoping for. _She is affected by him as much as he is by her_. He's not imagining it. 

If he hadn’t felt himself getting hard by the sheer nearness of her, he would’ve told her much more. If not for the restraint he was learning from her, he would’ve bent the knee to her and proclaimed her his Queen in the North then and there. But it's not safe. Not yet. In the short time since they’d reunited at Castle Black, he was surprised at how her austerity became his own. He learned from Father, Uncle Benjen, Jeor Mormont and yet, the forbearance she offers is something entirely different. It took visiting Dragonstone to see just how rare a quality that was. 

If he was any other man than her brother and a bastard, he would’ve felt smug with that reaction from her. He’d been craving that for what felt like all his life, but it's an empty victory. He’ll never dishonor her with his unnatural desires. If he can’t love her openly, marry her, and give her children what's the point of stirring up his feelings for her? He stayed away when they were growing up, avoided her, tried to move on with Ygritte and still…nothing. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_.Disgusted with himself, he gives her a quick smile and turns to leave. 

Sansa grabs his arm to stop him. 

“Jon, before you leave, I want to say a couple things.” She smiles shyly, not sure what to say next. She doesn't want him to leave just yet but her mind blanks on anything to keep him in her solar longer. He leans on her desk as she sIts down to buy herself time.

_Gods, how can someone be so beautiful? Stop staring Sansa and speak you idiot!_

“Thank you for leaving Ghost here. He stood by the castle gates the entire day after you left. The next day he wandered off and we couldn’t find him. By nightfall, I started getting worried. It was only until I returned to my chambers that I found him waiting patiently at the door. When I opened it, he trotted in like it was his and slept at the foot of my bed. He hasn't stopped since. Sometimes I’ll go the whole day without seeing him but he’ll always be sitting for me outside my chamber doors. He certainly scared Littlefinger away from visiting at odd hours. So thank you.”

Jon can't help but grin at that last bit, chuckling at his animal. _Bloody Ghost making him proud_.Apparently the orders he whispered into the beast’s fur before leaving Winterfell were obeyed after all. He stiffens at the name she so casually dropped and whips around to face her, asking,

“What happened to Littlefinger?” 

Sansa shrugs and sighs at the name. 

“That’s a tale for another time. We’ll share it over some ale and venison stew soon… Arya and Bran should really be around for that, its a good story. Arya does the best impression of him. Long story short, he’s no longer a threat to our family.” 

“Good.” He mutters, trying not to sound too pleased. His mind flickers over to his first and only talk with Littlefinger. He hoped he got the message across effectively. It felt good knowing Littlefinger wouldn’t be around to try anything more on Sansa. Between his threat and Ghost’s constant watch, Jon felt slightly better at being away from home for so long. Keeping himself in check, he cleared his throat and changed the subject. 

“You said a couple of things?” 

That shakes Sansa out of her daze. Her mind races to the next thought, trying its best to build a sentence that doesn't make her sound idiotic. 

“Oh yes… the last thing was I wanted to give you a proper welcome back. Between meeting the Dragon Queen and holding a council meeting, I was so focused on my duties as Lady that I didn’t get to properly welcome you home.” 

That sparks Jon’s attention immediately. He stands up from the desk he was leaning on, trying not to look so eager and nods with a grin. “Well, let’s get on with it.”

Sansa rolls her eyes at him to cover her heart beat wildly at what had just spilled out of her mouth. _Properly welcome? What a stupid thing to say, but oh those eyes, he looks so eager. Control yourself Sansa…_ She stands up from her desk, conscious of every step, and gives him the hug she wanted to give him, away from prying eyes. She suspects Brienne, mayhaps Tormund, possibly Arya, already guessed her true feelings for Jon but if they did, they all play ignorant. 

She sinks her fingers into his furs, her body flush against his. Nuzzling his cheek, she's transported back in time. A small, satisfied sigh escapes her throat and she stops caring about appearances, if only for that moment. One sleepless night, she traced her feelings for Jon back to its origins, to their reunion sitting in front of the fireplace at Castle Black. Earlier that day, Littlefinger had brought up the possibility of Jon bending the knee so as to marry the Targaryen queen. It left her restless. She’d stroked Ghost’s fur until she fell asleep, dreaming of Jon. _Where will_ we _go?_  

With the quietest whisper, she presses her lips to his ear and says, “I missed you Jon. Truly.”

Jon stiffens for a second upon hearing that, then sinks deeper into their embrace. He nuzzles his cheek against hers in response, trusting his instincts. _She’d been affected by my nearness, she says she missed_ me. _Surely it won’t cross the line if I gIve her another kiss, a small one, just like the one I gave her on the battlements after we took back Winterfell?_

He reaches up to hold her head and plants the softest kiss on her cheek, holding it for more seconds than he cares to admit.

Sansa closes her eyes to focus on his lips against her cheek. _Plush, warm, full…just a little further down… no Sansa, stop thinking this way. He’d probably be disgusted by what you're thinking…_

Jon slowly trails his lips down her cheek and pulls away reluctantly before he reaches her lips. As much as he tried aiming for a chaste kiss, he fails miserably.

Throats cleared, sighs stifled, they each pull a polite smile, both too self conscious to understand the other is doing the exact same thing, when a heavy scratch at the door breaks their silence. 

He opens it as Ghost pads past him, without so much as a glance at Jon, and curls himself at the foot of Sansa’s bed.She grinns at Jon, scratching behind Ghost’s ears and mouths, “good night.”

He rolls his eyes at her with smirk, and chuckles, “Aye, get some rest, ” before closing the door behind him. _Seven hells, what kind of fool is jealous of his own beast?_

 

***

“You’re the true king, Aemon Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, all of it.”

Jon steps away from Sam, breath shaky, the emotions swirling all over his features only reflecting a portion of the storm brewing inside him.

“Daenerys is our queen.”

“She shouldn't be.” 

“That’s treason.”

“It’s the truth. You gave up your crown to save your people. Would she do the same?”

Jon turns to look up at the face of Ned Stark’s statue, pain etched across his features.

Sensing he put more on Jon’s plate than he could handle at the moment, Sam starts walking away. He pauses before leaving the crypts,

“Talk to Bran and your sisters-um, cousins, and tell them. You shouldn’t bear this burden alone. Something this big affects them too. If it’s a distant possibility that they could get hurt by this, they deserve to know. If Daenerys catches wind of your claim to the throne, how will she react? Because if the Night King is defeated, she’ll be the most powerful person in all Seven Kingdoms. Will she be happy she’s not the last Targaryen or threatened by your claim? She doesn’t imprison her enemies, she burns them alive and calls it justice. Say you don’t want it, will that be enough for her? I don’t know her as well as you, but I know you Jon. I know _you_ know how she’ll take it.”

Sam’s last words hung in the air, thick and truthful. Jon’s mind races with the revelations he’d been given. _I’m not bastard. All my life, I wanted to be a Stark when I was one all along. Half Stark. Half Targaryen. That means she’s…my…aunt…_ He retches and vomits the supper he ate hours earlier. _Gods forgive me. I did it for her dragons, it was the only way. I couldn’t even finish without imagining she was Sansa. Oh Gods, Sansa. I’d die a hundred deaths before the Dragon Queen gets her hands on Sansa._ He clenches his fists in a quiet rage. _My Sansa._ The threat she’d made about Sansa not respecting her flashed in his mind. He grit his teeth, remembering the day he’d met Daenerys. 

Her stone cold expression, hard eyes and force behind her words in that throne room chilled his blood. Tyrion said he was unreasonable in asking for her help. She was the unreasonable one, demanding his fealty on birthright alone. Then she’d prevented them from leaving, holding them prisoner. That spun him into action. Sansa’s voice rang through his thoughts, _you have to be smarter than father, smarter than Robb_. His strategy was birthed that day as he paced alone in his chambers. He’d do whatever it took to get back home to Sansa and the North. 

He’ll tell them. _I don’t want be a Targaryen, nor the King of the Seven Bloody Kingdoms. But they deserve to know who I really am. I know Father, well Uncle Ned now, would’ve told me, he said he would before he left for King’s Landing._ His heart aches. _How will my family take it? How will Sansa react?_ He dares not get his hopes up. He's relieved that she wasn’t his sister but the relief will be for nought if his feelings aren’t returned. The best he can do was tell her and let her choose. He’ll hang on every flicker of emotion across her face, every sigh, blink and word she offers to see beyond what she says. _My Wolf Queen, my_ true _queen, is a servant of the people, she’d save them before thinking of her own happiness. I’ll devote the rest of my life to putting her first, whether or not she returns my feelings._

Well, that’s that. There’s nothing else to do but tell them the truth. He leaves the crypts, prepared for a restless night’s sleep. 


	2. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon processes the news of his parentage. Sansa has a revelation. The Stark family bond in the Godswood.

 

For a man who’d come back from death, the fact that something is visibly bothering Jon Snow concerns Sansa. He’s spoken less than ten words at Jaime Lannister’s hearing. Nothing seems to pull him from his thoughts until Bran mutters, “the things we do for love.”

She leaves the Great Hall after they adjourn and heads towards her chambers when a hand pulls her back.Jon looks into her eyes with a curious expression. _That’s a look I haven’t seen yet._

“Sansa, I need to speak with you, Arya and Bran. Could you meet me in the Godswood at midday? It’s important.” _His eyes are pleading with her_. It makes her heart ache. _Is this the source of his distraction?_

Running through her day’s schedule, she pauses before replying, “Of course, Maester Wolkan was planning on taking Bran there after the meeting. I saw Arya head toward the smithy; I don’t think she’ll be long. I’m meeting with Yohn Royce about last minute arrivals and grain stores, I’ll head over as soon as I’m finished there.”

Jon’s sigh of relief is palpable. His eyes grow warm as he gazes at her. “Your hair looks especially lovely today, my lady.”

A faint blush crosses her cheeks. Jon rarely compliments her, and its affecting her composure. “Thank you, Jon,” she says, looking down, pretending to dust a strand of hair off her gown. 

He nods, growing self conscious. “See you then.” She watches him leave, puzzling at what's come over him today. She’ll find out soon enough.

***

“I can’t help but feel we’re at odds with one another. Why is that?” 

Daenerys Targaryen sat imperiously in her chair, bluntly asking her what she wanted to know. Jorah Mormont beseeched her to speak with the Lady of Winterfell. The Lady of Winterfell was well beloved by her bannermen. Earning her trust and loyalty would pay dividends in uniting the Kingdoms. Ser Jorah helped her realize she’d missed an opportunity to endear herself to the North the day prior at the council meeting. Admittedly, she’d always been sensitive regarding her children but a terse reply of “whatever they want” was apparently a bit too much Fire and Blood for the conversation.

“Your brother?” 

She considers the look on Sansa’s face. _Restraint. Caution. Distrust._ Jon admires Sansa greatly, from the scant bits and pieces he shared of her on the way to Winterfell. It only makes her love him more, but Daenerys can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness. She tries to pinpoint why. _Jealousy?_

Sansa knows the Targaryen Queen is fishing for answers. She had caught on to Sansa’s chilly reception. Seeing for herself how beautiful she is, with her braided silver locks and lovely eyes sets Sansa on edge. Yet Jon’s words last night soothed her mind in more ways than one regarding the queen from Essos. Analyzing her words and the way she carried herself, Daenerys seems almost…insecure? _“Did you bend the knee to save the North or because you love her?”_ Sansa’s words came back to her, as did Jon’s reply. If he is fine letting this woman believe he loves her, she’ll further this train of thought.

“He loves you, you know that.” She's suddenly reminded of her Aunt Lysa as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“That bothers you?”

“Men do stupid things for women. They're easily manipulated.” Sansa knows that all too well. Those words seem to set Daenerys off on a tangent as a steely demeanor comes over her. Sansa’s mind wanders as she half hears the woman rambling about destroying enemies, taking the throne when she stops and her eyes bore into Sansa’s. 

“Until I met Jon.”

The realization creeps up on her. Jon’s odd behavior while he was away, the halfhearted pledges of loyalty to a woman he wanted people to believe he loved. Their conversation last night insinuates what she witnesses Daenerys saying with her own mouth.  “Tell me, who manipulated whom?”

Jon is playing the Great Game. No doubt he is keeping this from her so as to protect them. She beams in one second of uninhibited joy before she catches herself. Luckily, Daenerys takes this as a moment of closeness. 

She looks down and reflects before adding her own play to Jon’s plans. She’ll follow his lead and share the information with him at next opportunity. Leaning in, she places her hands on the table and flashes a grin at the Dragon Queen, professing, “I should’ve thanked you the moment you arrived. That was a mistake.”

“I’m here because I love your brother and I trust him and I know he’s true to his word. He’s only the second man alive I can say that about…”

Sansa knows Daenerys wants her to take the bait so she does. “Who was the first?” 

“Someone taller.”

She bites her lip in an easy laugh, eyes down as she remembers the way Jon hugged her last night. To her, he is perfect exactly as he is. Its simply one of the many things she loved about him.

Now having the Dragon Queen in a receptive mood, she probes amiably, “What happens afterwards? We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?”

Daenerys is caught off guard by the simple question. She’d thought it should be obvious to the Lady of Winterfell. “I take the Iron Throne”

Sansa thinks back to the shining moment Jon was named King in the North, to what they’d suffered over the years to finally return home after House Stark was nearly eliminated. “What about the North? It was taken from us, and we took it back.”She keeps her voice steady before it reveals more than she is willing to say. “And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again….What about the North?”

Daenerys moves her hand off of Sansa’s, as if she’s been burnt. She's steadily growing irritated. Jon should've spoken with his family by now and steered them away from the topic of Northern Independence. The North is her birthright and no one could convince her otherwise. She doesn't need to be here. She chose to fight Jon’s war because it was a direct threat to the kingdoms she seeks to rule. Her victory here will spread around to the other kingdoms, opening up other potential alliances. It suits her to indulge his needs so they traveled north.

The Dragon Queen’s silence says everything. Sansa examines the situation as the Mad King’s daughter is summoned by her men. As much as Jon skillfully navigated bringing her and her dragons to fight the Army of the Dead, reinstating Northern Independence is going to take a bit more finesse than one person could handle. At least if this conversation with Daenerys was any indication. Jon wanted to speak with the family today, could this possibly be the topic?

***

A light snow falls as they gather together underneath the weirwood tree. Sansa is the last to arrive. Jon paces back and forth until he notices her approaching. His hair is untied, curls running loose around his face. He looks tired, as if he hadn’t slept at all last night. Truthfully, neither had she, until she started pleasuring herself at the memory of his touch and feel of his mouth on her skin, reliving the moment they shared mere hours before.

Shaking the thought from her head, she clears her throat and speaks first.

“Apologies everyone, I had a conversation that ran longer than I was expecting. Speaking of, you called us here to talk with you Jon, what’s on your mind?”

Jon pauses, trying to find the right words. He looks to Bran, who encourages him with a soft smile. It melts his heart. After hearing about everything Bran endured, from becoming the Three Eyed Raven to returning to Winterfell, this was the first glimpse of the Bran he knew growing up. It gives him the strength he needs to continue. _Everything will change after I say this. Choose your words wisely._

“Last night, Samwell Tarly shared some information with me. Gilly was reading from a High Septon’s diary in the Citadel when she discovered that Lyanna Stark was married to Rhaegar Targaryen in a secret ceremony after he annulled his marriage to Elia Martell. Bran looked back and witnessed for himself how much they loved each other. She wasn’t taken. Lyanna died giving birth to a babe while she was in Dorne. After Rhaegar died, Ned Stark found his sister. Before she died, she swore him to secrecy, begging him to raise the babe as his own.”

Sansa gasps, her hands rushes to cover her mouth. _No! He’s…He’s…_ They all glance at her before he resumes his story.

“My real name is Aemon Targaryen. Uncle Ned brought me back to Winterfell and never told a soul. Samwell brought the High Septon’s diary to Winterfell. Bran can vouch for these events. Looking back, I suppose all those times I played Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and Florian the Fool with Robb was the Gods way of humoring themselves.” 

His attempt at a joke is met with silence, as he takes in their stunned faces. 

No one speaks until Arya leaps into his arms, and hugs him with a fierceness that shocks him.

“Brother, cousin, I don’t care what you are to me. Nothing will change the fact that I love you Jon and I’m proud to be your sister.” 

He doesn't realize he was holding his breath until she finishes. He swings her around before setting her down, laughing for the first time in what felt like ages. 

He turns to Sansa, who finally regained her senses. Tears streaming down her face, she rushes into Jon’s arms and feels the weight of her burdens lift off her. _He’s her cousin. They’re cousins_. _Nothing she feels for him is wrong._  

“Arya’s right. Nothing will change the love I have for you Jon. You are not your name, nor your titles. No one can take you away from us. Whatever it means to protect you in light of this information, we’ll do. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives. You’ll always be a Stark, come what may.”

The tears he’d been choking back now flow freely. He sinks into their embrace, throat raw as he speaks openly, “I love you too Sansa. It’s a relief to hear you say that.”

She pulls away from him to gaze into his eyes. The look she recognized earlier that day has returned. Before she can say anything, Bran speaks up.

“Arya, will you take me inside? The snow is coming down harder and I was hoping to speak to Maester Wolkan before the war meeting tonight.”

Jon and Sansa hug them both before Arya takes the handles of his chair and starts heading back, “Aye, there’s something he had for me as well, let’s go.” 

Sansa watches them leave, catching Arya turn back for a second to give her an enigmatic smile. Jon brushes the snow off his cloak, unaware of the quick moment between sisters. Sansa starts to mull over Arya’s meaning when Jon takes her out of her thoughts.

“Sansa, there’s something I need to say. Tormund says we have less than half a day before the Army of the Dead arrives. With everything that’s happened these past few days, there’s no sense to hold it back any longer. I’m not going to die a second time without saying what really matters.”

He takes her hands in his and confesses the plainest truth in him since he’d come back to life.

“Sansa, I love you. I know we said it earlier but truly, I love you beyond any words I can ever say. I’ve held myself back because I was your brother and I’d never dishonor with something so unnatural. I fought it hard, as hard as I fought any enemy I've come across. Now knowing you’re my cousin has released me from any shame I’d ever felt for loving you. I swore to you at Castle Black that I’d protect you and if we survive the night, I’ll protect you from this day to my last day. Unless I’m mistaken, you might have the same feelings for me. If I’m wrong and overstepping my boundaries, I wish you every happiness and hold nothing against you. My vow will still stand. I’ll protect you and your future children from any and all danger. But as for me, you’re it. There will never be another who can take your place in my heart.”

Jon searches her eyes for something, anything to indicate she understands his meaning. _Seven hells, I’ve fucked this up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She’ll hate me forever, how could I have been so wrong? I must be going mad. I made myself believe she cared-_

Sansa pulls her hands away from his to hold his head instead. Her eyes bore into his with a heat that threatens to render him immobile before she presses her lips to his, giving into her desires. His mind clear instantly of every thought as pure sensation takes over.

His lips moving against hers are softer than she imagined. She parts them eagerly, warmth radiating all over her body as he starts matching her in his enthusiasm. _Oh Gods, what could possibly be more sublime than the way he just moaned when I found my tongue against his._ She can feel his hardness against her and draws nearer. For the first time in her life, she _craves_  the feeling, needing relief for her own ache between her thighs.

His heartbeat pounds in his ears for what feels like eternity before they pause to catch their breath. Watching through hooded eyes, his gaze flickers down to her lips, returning to her amused eyes, daring him to consider what’s next. _Oh sweet girl, that dare is one I’ll follow through on tonight, with pleasure.There will be more than enough time later to explore precisely what she means by that. He’ll_ make _the time._

Foreheads connected, noses brushing against each other, they gaze into each others eyes and catch their breath slowly when Sansa finally speaks. _“_ Come to my chambers after the meeting Jon. You’re right. Whether we live to see another day or die tonight, I need you. That’s all that matters to me.”

It's Jon's turn to blush. “Tonight, sweet girl, after the meeting, I’ll find you in your solar. Oh and have a chambermaid draw you a bath before you arrive. There’s something I’d like to give you.”

She wonders at his meaning but nods with a shy smile. Tonight can’t come fast enough.

A tall figure passes through the Godswood on the way to the Heart Tree and stops to look at the pair underneath.Jon and Sansa are so consumed in their moment they never notice Brienne retracing her steps to stand guard at the entrance instead. She suspected their feelings for each other but witnessing with her own eyes is a different story entirely.

She starts tearing up. After everything Sansa's been through since she left Winterfell, she deserves every happiness and know Jon can give it to her. It doesn't matter to her that they are siblings. They both overcame so much to get to this moment. If Sansa can summon the bravery to follow her heart, so can she.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, readers. These thirsty lovebirds have no idea what's in store for them...muahaha! I'm trying to update as frequently as homework and family stuff will allow me so thank you all for your kind words and support, it keeps me inspired!! Love you so much Jonsa fam, until next time!


	3. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa meet in her chambers before the Army of the Dead arrive at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two literally wrote themselves over 3000+ words of smut...I had nothing to do with it! Enjoy!

The battle plans are agreed upon and the backup plans are confirmed by all attending. Construction is almost complete. The traps are laid. The tone of their meeting is somber but hopeful. Bran’s been warging a murder of crows periodically to receive the latest location and numbers of the Army of the Dead. He reviewed the last Long Night, revealing some of the weapons created to defend Winterfell. He looked over past defeats as well as the victories so that Jon could use the information to improve their weaponry as well as create a plan designed to buy them time, economize their forces and develop conditions favorable for offensive operations. The only thing that leaves them all unsettled is the location of the Night King and Viserion. They’re nowhere to be found. Nowhere in the North, at least. Bran starts looking further down south to find them. He estimates they have around four hours before the wights are due to arrive. 

Jon sighs and looks around the table, “Let’s get some rest.”

Sansa turns her head surreptitiously, her eyes flickering to her left at Jon before she leaves the room to head back to her chambers. While her pulse quickens, she paces her steps evenly to avoid suspicion from any curious eyes. She turns the corner, seeing her chambermaid closing her door behind her. Knowing that her bath was drawn and ready, with all that that implied, makes her hands tremble in anticipation.    
“Sansa!”

She turns around to find her sister naught but a couple steps behind her. No matter how long it’d been, she’ll never get used Arya’s cat-like stealth in navigating her way around Winterfell. It scares her a bit but mostly she admires the finesse and skill it takes for her to do something like singlehandedly avenge the Red Wedding. She’d never wanted to be a noble lady and so she did what she needed to survive and see that through.

“Is everything okay? What brings you here?” She ushered her into her solar as Arya opens her hand, “This.”

She handed a small satchel to Sansa and looking into her eyes expectantly, “Moon tea.” 

It was the very last thing Sansa thought her sister would hand her. It renders her speechless. Thank the Gods Arya held her hand up and spoke first, 

“Don’t speak, there’s no time. I asked Maester Wolkan for this and he assumed it was for me, so you and Jon are safe. I know how you both feel about each other, and honestly, it’s about time you two acted on it. I won’t pretend to know how or why it happened, but you and Jon deserve to be happy so you have our blessing. From now on, Bran and I will do what we can to keep the Dragon Queen from finding out. I have my own plans for this tea tonight so before I do that, I’ll sneak into Jon’s chambers, lock it from inside and leave through the window. I planted the key in his pocket when he wasn't paying attention. Brienne, who knows about you two by the way, knows the plan. She’ll stand guard outside your door until Podrick locates Ghost to bring here to sup. They’ll leave to avoid suspicion and Ghost will wait outside your door until you open it, as he usually does. If anyone asks you later, Jon was deep in sleep in his chambers, and you were praying in your solar. I think that covers everything. I expect Jon will be here soon, so I’ll take my leave.”

Arya smiles and gives her sister one of her rare hugs. Sansa feels her eyes tear up, she’s so touched by everyone’s love and support of them. She grins at sister who’s already halfway out the door before she finds her voice, 

“Thank you…and Arya? I hope you enjoy yourself tonight as well…”

Replying with a smirk and a wink, she left as quickly as she came.

Sansa resists the urge to pace in her chambers, instead running her hands through the bath water. Her chambermaid had prepared it extra hot so it’d be just right by the time she returned to bathe. 

_Should I start taking off my clothes? What could he possibly want with a drawn bath? I hope he wasn’t detained by the Lords… or worse, by_ her _. Did I imagine that moment today under the Heart Tree? They say no man can tell a lie in front of a heart tree Sansa, so stop these ridiculous thoughts. He loves you, you love him and for the first time in your life, you’ll know what it means to lay with someone who loves you…_

The single, soft knock at her door stopped her thought spiral. _Jon_.

Sansa quickly answered the door. It closes with gentle click as she firmly locks it behind him.

She turns around to find him mere inches away from her.

“Sansa…” He brackets her to the door with his arms and melds his lips to hers, delighting in their luscious feel. He’d been craving her like a madman for hours. His rough breath against hers sends waves of heat down her body, pooling between her thighs. She traces the round curves of his arse and pulls him closer, squeezing him against her as she feels his heat and hardness growing between them. 

He pulls his lips from hers in warning, “If you keep doing that sweet girl, I’ll spill like a greenboy when I have much more to do with you before that…”

She lowers her voice to a whisper, batting her eyelashes, “Is that so? What do you have in mind?” 

He grins, “Patience, my Queen. I’ve dreamed of this for ages, let me lead tonight. After all, a starving man doesn’t fill his belly by eating in a hurry, it’ll make him sick… We’re taking this slow. I mean to savor you inch by inch, devour you into peak after peak before I find my own pleasure.”

He starts unlacing her gown, placing languid open mouthed kisses at throat, nipping at her earlobe. Suddenly, he stops. 

“Sansa before we go any further, you deserve to know something. You’ve heard of the wildling girl that I broke my vows with, but there is one other person I’ve bedded. The Dragon Queen. It was only once. I’m ashamed to say I used my body as a tool to gain her armies and dragons for the North. The only way I could even finish was to imagine she was you. Before the heart tree, I told you that I’ve only ever loved you and I meant it. I’m not the caliber of politician you are. While I manipulated her and her advisers to believe I have feelings, I’ve never told her I loved her. If you find this unforgivable, tell me to leave. I’ll not hold it against you; you have my word.”

_Please say something… anything…I can’t bear your silence._

Sansa considers the sorrow and desperation in his eyes. This is what he was referring to last night. This additional information didn’t change anything. He asked her to trust him. There was no doubt that she still did. So she puts him out of his misery. Closing the space between them, she unbuckles his belt with love shining in her eyes, hearing it thunk heavily on the floor, fingers nimbly unlacing his tunic.

“The ghosts in our bed can’t harm us anymore, Jon. You wouldn’t be the first person to use their body for political strategy and you won’t be the last. I love you. The only thing we can do now is look truth in the face. I am yours as you are mine. I trust you, so trust me when I say from now on, we do everything together. Including this…”

He kisses his relief all over her face and neck, “Gods, Sansa. You are truly remarkable.” 

She removes his undershirt but he stops her at his breeches. “Not yet my Queen, tonight is about you. Allow me…”

He finishes unlacing her gown, peeling it off her as he lays it gently on the chair beside them.

“My love, you are Lady of Winterfell. Overseeing a large castle is already a considerable responsibility. Somehow, you’ve added coordinating with the builders, armory, smiths, incoming bannermen, women and children to your list of duties, all with kindness and patience. I’m awestruck by you, gorgeous girl. Permit me to knead the tension away from your muscles while you bathe. I wish you to be completely at ease before I take you as many ways as I can in the time we have.”

He walks over to her little bottles of oils and lotions, looking back at her helplessly, his face riddled with confusion.

She laughs, walking over to pick a few, swirling the liquids into the still steaming tub. He starts to look at her eagerly as she grabs the sleeves of her shift to pull it off. She feels herself blushing crimson from head to foot. She pauses, trying to find words to say what needs to be said.

“Jon before I reveal myself, you must know that Ramsey left my body with scars. If I flinch when you’re inside me, it’s not because I don’t want to continue. Flashes of his brutality rise up occasionally, mostly during sleep. This is my first time laying with someone I love and you deserve to know this in advance.”

He closes the gap between them. “Sweet girl, thank you for sharing this. It’s very brave of you. When I see them, it’ll remind me of the strength inside you that I love so much. You endured horrific things but overcame it all to take back Winterfell. The battle was almost over until you arrived. They tried to break your spirit but you’re here with me, opening your heart to love and a future together. They couldn’t take that away from you, and now they never will.”

His words fan the fire already flaming within her. _My sweet Jon._ Feeling emboldened, she lifts her shift over her head and tossing it behind her. She dares him with her eyes to finish undressing her. His jaw hangs low, eyes wide drinking in her lithe form. _She is magnificent._ He intends to take her slowly tonight but Gods, it might be the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. A growl rumbles from his chest as he kneels down to gingerly remove her lace smallclothes. He pockets them, looking up and said gruffly, “These are now _mine_.”

As he stands up, he trails kisses and fingers all over her body, taking her hand in his to ease her into the water.He carefully tucks her hair outside of the tub, reaching for the bottle of oil she’d chosen earlier. When his hands are glistening with the sweet almond oil, he travels down the nape of her neck, rubbing her muscles in a firm circular pattern, feeling for spots of collected tension to gently knead out. Down her shoulder, arms, calves, he goes. Jon listens to her breathy exhales and quiet moans, noting those areas on her body. _If tonight is indeed their last night alive, he’d die knowing he memorized every inch of Sansa Stark._

_Gods, how can the magic he’s conjuring with his hands relax me so yet make me restless? Every part of me feels satisfied…all except for one. If only he’d touch m-Oh Seven Hells!!_

He’d thumbs at the tender bud at the apex of her thighs and her legs shoot out of the water, splashing some on the floor. She groans and bites her lip, whispering, “Oh Jon, more please, more.”

He chuckles, “So polite my lady. Let’s see if we can fix that. I’m going to use my fingers on you, sweet girl. You’re going to feel a pressure rise within you before you reach your peak. You’ll know when it’s approaching. Tonight, I want you to hold it back. You’re not allowed to peak until I say so, my love. It might get a bit frustrating but trust me, it’ll be even better because of the wait. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes Jon, please! Just keep moving your fingers.” Sansa whimpers, eyes opening to find Jon’s breath heavy with lust, eyes trained on her every move as he caresses her inner walls with his fingers underneath the water’s surface. He teases her entrance, going fast then slow, deep than shallow, steadily winding her up underneath his touch.

Sansa grips the tub as he adds a third finger, working inside her with more urgency. As she was closes her eyes, he growls, “Eyes on me.” Their maintained eye contact affects her body quickly as she feels her excitement rise higher and higher as he described. Her walls starting fluttering around his fingers as her pleasure starts to become unbearable. Until he stops.

_NO! PLEASE KEEP GOING…_

She groans at his impish chuckle and whines in her throat, needy for his fingers. “I told you Sansa, be a good girl and hold back your release. I know you can do it. Don't misbehave or you’ll be punished, sweet girl. It’s not time, as I’ve not allowed you yet. It is time, however, to dry you off, my love.” 

She stands up while he drys her with a clean cloth, rubbing her lavender lotion onto every inch of her skin before carrying her to their bed. _Their bed._ She feels him lift her head to fastidiously fan her hair out on the bed. _Beautiful hair, kissed by fire._ He smiles shyly at her. _My Queen._

She’s never felt so loved. A rush of craven images flash before her eyes. _Jon above her, taking her like a wolf, fucking her fast and rough in the middle of the day. Kneeling underneath the table of the Great Hall as she pleasures his length with her mouth. Looking up at him while he strokes inside her teasingly as she begs him to give her a babe._ She feels a rushing of slickness between her thighs at that. _She imagines herself growing large with his child, breasts full of milk as he holds her nipples between his teeth, nipping at her with a slight twinge of pain._ She feels her arousal mounting up once more, even without his touch.

Jon brings her back to here and now as he does exactly what she was fantasizing to herself about. He swirls his tongue around her nipple, taking one in between his teeth and softly bites down while caressing the other. She covers her mouth to moan. He licks a long trail between her breasts, past her navel to her cunt.

Kneeling at the edge of the bed, he pulls her long, milky legs towards him, wrapping them over his shoulders as he suckles bruises along her inner thighs. A rush of slickness reaches Jon as she feels the warmth of his face brushing against the soft curls of her hair. _He wanted her as crazed as he felt, but fuck if she wasn’t already_ dripping _for want of him_. He brings his mouth to her folds, sucking on them tenderly like he had been kissing her mouth earlier. Tongue flattened against her folds, digging deeper into her walls, he declares firmly, “This. Is. Mine.” 

She grabs the pillow behind her head to dampen her loud moan. 

He stops his ministrations. “Sansa, _look_ at me. _Say_ it!” His voice growls with lust.

Her whole body hums with desire, the heat making her tremble as she takes in his wild eyes.

“ _Yours_ , Jon. _Only_ yours.” She mewls, her mind barely able to think, only feel. _My King._

Satisfied for now, his greedy mouth explores her folds, feverish with want, licking, devouring her like the basest of men. Her hands fly to his head, pulling him closer when he traces circles around her nub with his tongue. Her arousal is getting dangerously close to a peak. Mesmerized by her growing shudders and pleasured trembles, he cups her breast and rolls her taut nipples between her fingers before giving them a quick pinch. She grits her teeth, fighting the oncoming waves of pleasure.

“ _Stop_! Jon, stop…I’m about to peak.” She’s desperate not to peak. Sansa knows he’d never hurt her but part of her wants to know what sort of punishment he’d dole out. If it makes her crazed with desire, like she feels right now…it might not be so bad to be his naughty girl as well.

Reluctantly, he pulls himself from her mound, kissing her inner thighs before he stands up. Jon beams, licking his lips and letting her see how pleased and proud he is of her. 

“Good girl, sweet girl, you’ve done so well holding back. I knew you could do it. As for me, I can't wait any longer. I need to be inside you.”

Jon unlaces his breeches to pull off his smallclothes, shucking them off without a second thought. He isn’t aware of the exhibition he is making until he turns to face her and sees Sansa’s heated eyes fixed on him, drinking in his naked form. 

_Seven fucking hells. Sansa. He is_ perfection _. Every single part of him. Don’t pretend you won't be hungering for his cock from now on._

Her open lust for him makes his cock twitch. She notices it, her eyes trailing from his broad shoulders down to the apex of his legs and settles on his manhood. Her breath catches in her throat as the corners of her mouth turn up in a mischievous grin. “I don’t know how you could possibly fit your cock inside me, my King, but I’m more than up for the challenge. Get over here NOW.”

“My filthy girl, hearing you say such things will haunt my dreams. Because you’ve been such a good girl, the first time I make you peak will be with my cock buried deep inside you. I’ve thought about it for so long. I want to make love to you slow and tender but I also want to take you fast and rough. Can we try both, my Queen? If you need to me to stop or slow down, tell me. We’ll do whatever you need, it that all right?”

Sansa nods her assent as he climbs above her to kiss her lovingly, his lips soon growing fevered against hers. The tip of his cock touches her cunt, probing around her wetness to brush against her tender bud. _Mine._ Her heart swells at the thought. She bites her lip to keep from moaning. 

_She’s never looked more beautiful._

She glances up at him, breathless, loosening the tie holding back his hair to free his dark curls as she lazily runs her fingers through them. _Gods I love his hair._ He keeps teasing her entrance, gathering her moisture until she snaps impatiently. “I can’t bear it any longer Jon. For the love of the Gods, I need you inside me!”

She grabs his cock, guiding him as he presses his way inside her slowly, spreading her legs further to accommodate his girth and rotating his hips against hers. Adjusting his angle, he sinks in deeper. Gritting his teeth, he looks down to find her looking at him in awe, eyes hooded in bliss. He sucks dark red bruises on her neck as he holds still, letting her adjust to his size until he feels her flutter around him.

She welcomes every inch of his length, hot and firm within her. The sensation is unreal. His face is awash in rapture and adoration. Her heart throbbed deep in chest to see him so unhinged. When he finally reaches the entrance to her womb, she moans.

“Sansa, is everything all right my love?”

She looks down at where they are joined. He has yet to fully seat himself inside her. As full of him as she feels, her need of him is insatiable. Any pain she felt from his size and girth was gone. She wants it all. And she wants it NOW.

Eager, greedy and needing his mouth against hers, she hisses at him, “Keep going Jon, I want all of you.”

He searches her face, “I’m not hurting you?” 

She scoffs with a restless huff, “Seven fucking hells no. Root me before I die of waiting.”

Jon chuckles, “Naughty, filthy girl. What ever will I do with you? Your words threaten to end me.”

“I’ll end you if you don’t start moving this very second.”

He’s amused by her glaring at him. “As you wish, my Queen. My only Queen.”

He angles her hips upward, angling his down and thrusts up. She’s hotter and wetter than when he first entered her. He works himself in her until finally they’re fully joined, their hips flush against each other. He thumbs at her nub furiously, licking his lips as he looks down to where they’re joined. After so much teasing, that was all it took. Sansa cries out her release against his hand, wave after wave of pleasure cresting over her body. He stills to let her ride out her release. Although satiated and boneless in his arms, she discovers she’s still hungry for him. Her peak only whetted her appetite for him.

When he starts rutting inside her again, quicker and rougher, she starts bucking her hips against his, meeting him thrust for thrust until she notices what Jon is focused on, intently. Her fingers trail down her body, moaning as she presses down over the place on her stomach that was pushed up and bulging from his cock inside her. He starts moving faster, placing his hand above hers as they push down together. He notices how much slickness she’d produced since he fully seated himself inside her. The greedy way she bucks her hips to meet his threatens to make him spill. _Seven hells, she takes me so well. Like the Gods made her just for me. If we survive tonight, I’m going to fuck her every. single. day._

“Look at how wet you are for me, my good girl, filthy girl, oh I love you so much.”

She whimpers when he withdraws with only the tip of his cock inside her, teasing her, in and out in and out with a wet clicking, until she’s thrashing against her furs begging for his cock. Mercifully, he slides back in further but doesn’t fully enter her. He probes around inside her until he finds a small, spongy spot within her that makes her grasp the pillow behind her to stifle her moans. 

His teasing is intoxicating, threatening to drive her mad. The peak building within her this time feels odd, threatening to overwhelm her more than the first. The sensation grows steadily; she tries to pinpoint the feeling. It’s almost as if she needs to make water but she knows she doesn’t. It makes her uncomfortable. 

Jon encourages her, “Let go, my love.” He reaches between them to rub at her nub, keeping on with shallow thrusts.

Trusting him, she gives into her release. It’s bigger than the first. She screams into the pillow, biting her lip until she tastes blood. There are stars behind her eyelids as her inner walls tighten and quivers around Jon’s cock, sucking him even deeper as a rush of fluids gush down her cunt to drench the furs underneath them. She removes the pillow to look at him sheepishly, cheeks red. “I’m so sorry Jon, did I just make water? I’m so ashamed; we can stop if you want to.”

He looks at her, astounded. “Sansa, why would I ever want to stop this? There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my love. You did peak but you did not make water. It’s a special kind of release, exactly the same as peaking but much, much stronger. That liquid is the same slickness you produce when you’re aroused. It doesn’t happen every time. It’s very rare. The freefolk have spoken about such things before but it’s the first time I’ve seen it myself. Gods you are extraordinary, sweet girl, absolutely one of a kind. You’re so beautiful when you peak.”

Sansa is relieved. He’s still hard inside her, now buried to hilt. Despite that life altering release, she still wants him. With her mind at ease, her thoughts return to one of the fantasies she’d imagined earlier. This might be the only time they lay with each other. She wants to share this secret with him before they face the Army of the Dead.“Jon?”

“Yes, gorgeous girl?” 

“I have moon tea.”

“Good.”

“I’m not going to drink it. If you fall and I live, I don’t want to regret as least trying to make a babe with you. Put a babe in me, please?”

Hearing those words coming out of her mouth is the closest he’s come to, well, cumming. He imagines a heavily pregnant Sansa riding his cock; her hair loose around her as she takes her pleasure from him and demands his seed. 

He groans, his cock and hips answering her question as if they have a mind of their own. As if he could refuse her anything. Jon takes her legs and hooks them above his shoulders. She moans as he sinks in impossibly deeper. He starts rutting against her roughly, looking down as her as she snakes her hand between them to stroke her nub. Their bed starts to move underneath them. Within a few minutes, his strokes become shorter, quicker, irregular, deeper. His wild eyes bore into hers, jaw dropped and eyes glassy until he shatters triumphantly.

Gripping her hips hard until he’s sure he’ll leave bruises, Jon pushes himself inside her as deep as he can. Sansa feels his every spasm of his cock as he empties himself inside her, thick spurts of cum drenching her womb with his seed.

He dusts her face and neck with kisses, languidly splashing the entrance to her womb with a few final spurts of cum as his orgasm tapers. Bending her further, he holds her face in his hand and whispers, “Eyes on me.” He reaches between them, stroking her bud.” Cum for me once more Sansa. Take my seed deeper inside you.” Between their eye contact and his wanton words, it doesn’t take much longer before her eyes roll back and her walls clench around him, sucking in him to milk his cock. Removing her legs from his shoulders, he begins to withdraw but she grabs at his arse to keep him inside her.

“Just a while longer, my love. I don’t want your seed to spill.” 

He doesn’t leave her right away, laying his ear against her chest, hypnotized by her beating heart and the way she runs her fingers through his loose curls, stroking his scalp with her nails. He pulls out carefully, holding her hips up to no avail as a thick glob his cum slowly falls from her cunt. He pushes it back in but with the sheer amount he’s pumped into her, he is fighting a losing battle.

She feels his seed streaming down her folds. She knows he soaked her walls full of his cum and looking between her thighs only confirms that. Taking some cum between her fingers, she rubs her nub, delighting in small afterwaves of her peak. Staring at him coyly, she reaches back in for more and rubs his seed onto her nipples, bringing them back to hardness. 

His cock twitched valiantly against his leg. “Sweet girl, how can you be both such a good girl and so devastatingly filthy? Don’t start something you cannot finish. I’ll punish you if you do…”

She licks her lips at him, sighing with resignation, “Fine.”

He swears under his breath, fighting the urge to take her again. Instead, he finds a pillow next to the bed, placing it underneath her body to keep her hips up. He scoops some of his cum from her thighs and pushes it back inside her, patting her cunt before returning to her lips to kiss her.

“You keep as much of my cum as you can inside you, do you understand? That’s where it belongs.”

She flashes him her most seductive grin, purring “Yes, _my King._ ”

Sansa watches him as he puts his clothes back on slowly, reluctant to leave. He doesn’t want to but he’s been here too long. The dead could be here any minute. His presence would be missed before hers was. He’s puzzled to find the key to his chambers in his pocket.

“Arya put it there. Your door is locked. She and Bran know about us. They give us their blessing. Brienne knows as well but that’s about it. They all planned to help us keep tonight a secret. Ghost should be outside guarding the door. If anyone asks, you were asleep in your chambers and I was praying in my solar.”

He smirks, “I don’t know if you were praying but you did call upon the Gods a few times tonight.” He ducks the pillow she chucked at his head two seconds earlier, laughing.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re an idiot. But you’re _my_ adorable idiot now. I’ll stay in bed awhile longer obeying your orders to the letter before I get dressed. How about l meet you in the crypts a little later? There’s a few last minute things we should talk about if we survive the night, things that’ll help our cause. I wasn’t about to interrupt our night with things that could wait.”

He adjusts his cloak, already missing her, “Aye… Sansa?” He presses his lips to her forehead 

“Yes Jon?” She’s already dozing off, wrung out from their activities. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

She hears the soft click of the door behind him and drifts off to sleep.

 


	4. The Battle of Winterfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Army of the Dead arrive at Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I just discovered the statistics page and what I found there floored me. Thank you so much for all of your kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions!!! I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that its been a little over week since I started this fic and hundreds of you are already subscribed to receive updates… its just, wow. As a special thank you, I made this plot heavy chapter just a little longer to include a smidgen of smut, just for you! Enjoy ;)

 

 

If Sansa didn’t already know the Army of the Dead were drawing nearer, she’d certainly sense it. Chilly gusts of wind nip at her cheeks, making them rosier as she approaches the crypts. Even the high necked dress she wears under her furs to cover the love bites already forming cannot protect her from the cold. 

Sansa stands at the foot of the stairs, about to turn the corner when she hears two voices speaking. Jon’s gruff voice is distinct and she just became familiar with the other—The Dragon Queen. Daenerys was holding Jon’s arm against her. _Ugh._ Sansa pressed herself against the wall and listened to Jon’s aunt,

“I was hoping you’d come to me tonight. We haven’t lay together since the boat to Winterfell and I require some private time with the Warden of the North,” she cooed seductively. “You can’t expect me to be satiated with one taste of you.”

_Seven hells, if you didn’t have dragons and an army here I’d set Ghost on you for speaking to him with such disrespect._

“I needed rest Dany. If I’m not rested to protect your armies and the North, which is now one of _your_ kingdoms, how do you _expect_ to take the Iron Throne? Or do you only see me as a stud horse here to warm your bed?” He spat out, an irritated edge to his voice.

_His expression when he looks at her… looks as if he’d just smelled some wet shits._

“You are not my stud horse. I was only saying…”

“What _are_ you are saying, Daenerys? Millions of lives are at stake. If we fall here, Westeros is doomed. This might be the most important battle in over a thousand years and I’ll not be treated like your plaything. I was the King in the North for the Gods sake. ”

_Jon handles her fairly well. I’ll have to let him know that. He can doubt himself so much at times._

“You are a military man; it makes sense that this would be your priority. I wasn’t thinking ahead. Thank you for your loyalty to my cause. Look, your sister is approaching.” 

His head whipped around in her direction. She notices him trying not to react to the sight of her. It’s the same expression he wore when he first greeted them after returning from Dragonstone. _Well done, Jon._ She puts on as warm a smile as she can muster and nods,

“Apologies Your Grace, I thought I would be alone. I came to light candles for my Father and Rickon before the battle starts.”

Daenerys is slightly taken aback at Sansa’s politeness. _Mayhaps Jon must have gotten his sister under control?_ “That’s quite all right. I merely had a question to ask your brother. Proceed Lady Stark, I was about to leave anyhow.”

After the Dragon Queen walked away a few paces, she turns to Jon, saying just loud enough for Daenerys to hear, “Did you get any rest after the meeting? Arya says you went to your chambers.”

“Aye, I slept well enough, thank you Sansa. Did you rest?”

“A little. Mostly I prayed in my chambers.” 

They listened for the heavy door to close before rushing to a dimly lit nook. Jon holds her head in his hands, desperately parting her lips with his tongue, kissing her deeply. She moans against his mouth at how hungrily he returns her kisses. 

_He’s been away from her bed for less than an hour and his body is already half starved for hers._

“Oh sweet girl, you're exactly who I needed to see after talking with the Dragon Queen. The way she talks to people is as if she owns them. I saw it the first day I met her and it’s getting worse. I know I should wait to tell her about my true parents but I came so close right now, just to ward off her advances. It was bad when I thought she was a mad queen, its worse now that she’s my mad Targaryen aunt.”

“I heard what she’s telling you, my love. You did so well navigating your way out of it. You’re right, she shouldn’t know just yet. I was late to our meeting with Bran and Arya earlier today because she was discussing you and her future reign. If we survive tonight, I have some ideas as to how we can retain her armies to fight the Army of the Dead, reveal news of your parentage and regain Northern Independence. You were named King in the North and I’ll not rest until the North is yours again.”

“My brilliant girl, you continue to amaze me.And if we survive tonight, Sansa, I’m going to marry you as soon as I can. If it needs to done in secret for now, so be it. We can figure out the politics of it all later.” 

She flashes him a full impish grin, “First off, I’ll need a better proposal than that or I might not accept… Second, I have some ideas that can help us make _that_ very thing possible.”

Jon sits her down on the stone behind her and starts lifting up her skirts, his eyes fixed on hers as he licks his lips in preparation. He trails kisses up her leg towards his favorite spot on her body before they’re interrupted.

A horn calls out in the distance. Once. Twice. Thrice. _Three times for White Walkers._ The smiles drop from their faces. _They’re here_. 

Jon lifts her up and into his arms, holding her against him in a fierce embrace. Sansa tries to choke away a sob as she nuzzles against his beard, peering into his eyes. “Come back to me Jon, do you understand? I forbid you to die.”

He covers her face in kisses, tenderly whispering “I’ve beat it once, death’s not taking me without a fight.”

They slowly part, with their shoulders squared and faces set with determination. _Let’s do this_.

***

The pound of hooves on stone and ululation of Dothraki riders echoes in the Great Hall. It catches everyone’s attention, from Sam, Gilly and Young Sam to Davos and the Targaryen small council.What it means sends shivers down Sansa’s spine. _They must be opening the castle gates. Anyhow that’s the plan… Which means either it’s going well, or very, very wrong. Either way, it be over soon_. All 120,000 wights arrived on their doorstep, led by at least a five hundred white walkers. It frustrated Sansa to remain inside but she resigns herself to the fact that outside, she would be a liability. If Jon had indeed put a babe in her tonight, she needs to be alive to bring their child into the realm. She paces the length of the hall, going over the facts while waiting for Bran to return from his three eyed raven visions. She wants to ask him to warg into some crows and share what is happening outside Winterfell, but he is still looking for the Night King. 

They _had_ to be defeating the Army of the Dead. Jon emphasized that defense was their best strategy for survival. They needed every living soldier they had. Lining up their forces outside the castle gates would only add numbers to the Army of the Dead. Which meant Winterfell was now outfitted with dragon glass spiked walls all along the battlements, with Northern archers standing at attention, fully equipped. The dragon glass ballistas for Viserion are loaded and ready at the top of every tower. An invention of Sam and Maester Wolkan, they are designed to also hold and loosen large flaming arrows as needed. Movable fire catapults are stationed around the entire perimeter of the castle, primed to send fireballs into the darkness. Beyond the catapults, a ring of fire surrounds the castle, flaming brightly and illuminating the cloudy night. 

Four more concentric rings of wood surrounding the castle are primed to burn, with branches of wood connecting them, and will be lit once the majority of the Army of the Dead approaches the castle, essentially sectioning off their army while the dragons eliminate the dead, section after section. If the wights try to dampen the fire with their own corpses, the Unsullied would tar those areas for the archers or ballistas to light up. Any giants or large animals are to be targeted first so as to bring any nearby wights down with them as they fall. If the ground forces need assistance with white walkers, the Dothraki will charge out the gates with their new arakhs to defend the outside of the castle. The Knights of the Vale will follow, and lastly, Jon will dismount his dragon to join with the other Valyrian steel swords in ground combat. The remaining Unsullied are to bring up the rear before sealing the castle gates once more.

The Great Hall has its own assemblage of fighters, dragon glass daggers and arrows to defend the women and children. A sweet but fierce Northern girl with scars on one side of her face stands near the entrance, bow and arrow in hand. Davos tried to persuade her to draw nearer to the fire yet she guards the door, ready to aim. Sansa approaches her with a mug of tea, setting it on table next to her, smiling. 

“I brought this for you, should you get thirsty, soldier. Thank you for defending the Great Hall, you are making us all feel much, much safer.”

“Thank you, milady. We need every fighter we have Lady Stark, and that’s what I came here to do.”She gives Sansa a quick smile, and sipped her tea before resuming her post.

Sansa smiles to herself, thinking of what her and Jon’s children could be like. She wanted boys and girls with his curly raven locks, grey eyes and full smile. He _had_ to live. The other outcome is unthinkable.

***

_This feels wrong_. Jon ducks underneath a frozen spear before slashing another white walker. The sounds of crackling ice surrounded them as a steady thrum of dragon glass arrows rains around them. Jorah, Brienne, Jaime, Jon and Arya stand in close proximity, fending off the couple hundred white walkers that remain. 

Overall, the campaign was effective. Their strategy of blocking off the dead with rings of fire allowed the dragons to turn the vast majority of wights into ash within a relatively short amount of time. A fog had settled over the battleground, limiting visibility for aerial attacks. The Night King and Viserion were nowhere to be found. Not wanting to risk accidentally hitting the dragons, they still utilized the ballistas and catapults, mostly aiming downwards to support ground tactics while the dragons continued aerial assaults and dodging the walker’s ice spears. 

The Dothraki form a circle, closing ranks as they ride and creating a moving blockade as their dragon glass arakhs whistle through the air into the skulls of the undead. The Unsullied are forming a perimeter around the castle to defend the walls from those wanting to scale the walls or the castle gates. A few dozen Knights of the Vale ride away in each direction to scout for any remaining forces that held back, before returning to report their findings.

None of this makes any sense to Jon. _Has Bran found where the Night King is hiding?_ _Why would he sacrifice his entire army in one night? If this choice is deliberate, why did he want the North occupied?_ A walker shattered next to him. _The majority of the walkers he saw on the frozen lake beyond the wall were here tonight. Where are the rest?_

He whips around to look for Arya. They were fighting back to back for some time until he lost her. Turning his head to the sound of a glacier shattering, he finds Arya, spear in hand, in the center of three dead white walkers, pausing to grin at him,

“When you’re done knitting by the fire Jon, you’re welcome to join us!”

With a replying grin, he motions her to join him as they charge towards the four walkers closest to them.

Part of him wants to focus on their victory tonight, the other half is worried about the battles to come. This battle gives him more questions than answers. The dead are still a threat. And Cersei, of course. Jaime Lannister told them that not only were their armies not coming to fight with them, but that Cersei ordered the Golden Company to massacre the treasonous North, Vale and Targaryen forces while they were crippled from combat.Jon knows Sansa despises Cersei with a singular hatred but still used her time as a hostage in King’s Landing to learn her enemies way of thinking. No matter what Cersei has in store for them, they will defeat her together. 

The Knights of the Vale ride back from north, east and west only to return to the castle gates. _No threats there, then. The scouts would’ve warned us._ The torches had yet to be lit on the towers. _That meant still no Viserion, nor Night King._ Jon looked around. The Dothraki had already broken their circle to charge at the few stray walkers roaming around. Surveying the battlefield, it seemed as if the Valyrian steel knights were all accounted for. In striking the white walkers near him and mulling over their enemies, he had slightly wandered away from the others. There were less than fifty now. Soon, the battle would be won. _I kept my word, Sansa._ He returned to his stream of thoughts. 

Daenerys is a different enemy altogether. From the day they’d met, she came off as unstable and entitled. It threw him off kilter. After mocking his intelligence with her sarcastic history lesson, she asked him not to hold her to her father’s crimes without seeing the irony of her demanding he uphold his ancestor’s vows. He tried appealing to her character, crediting her with at least being better than Cersei for not wanting to burn down King’s Landing. Yet at the news of her losses at Casterly Rock and Highgarden, Daenerys’ first impulse was to fly over and destroy the city. Tyrion then let it slip that they had already discussed this… Which meant, this was her impulse not only once, but _twice_. He couldn’t understand how Tyrion would champion her cause when she seemed as ruthless as his sister. _If she suffers another great loss, what’s to stop her from burning King’s Landing? Or Winterfell for that matter?_

She came from across the Narrow Sea knowing that until she sat on the throne, her only weapons would be her armies and the diplomatic goodwill she would need to demonstrate to the small folk that she was here to break the wheel, that she wasn’t more of the same. Then she burned the Tarlys alive. Before Theon Greyjoy left Dragonstone, he mentioned to Jon that when they met her in Meereen, Yara had asked for the Iron Islands’ independence in return for their allegiance in battle. Daenerys had not only agreed, but that she told Tyrion the other kingdoms were allowed to ask as well. That fact alone infuriated him. _The unmitigated gall of her to demand he renounce his crown!_    So he followed Tyrion and Jorah Mormont’s lead in how to handle her and watched his influence over the Dragon Queen begin to grow. _One of the worst enemies is the unpredictable kind. She gives into her worst impulses, if the wrong person were to council her, how much worse could things get?_

_As soon as I’m done bedding my sweet, brilliant girl, I’ll ask her how she proposes to take down our enemies._

It was done. The white walkers were destroyed. He started heading back to the castle when he heard the rumble of hooves coming from the south. The Knights of the Vale were fast approaching. They flashed their swords, sideways then up to signal what they found. _Enemies? More white walkers?_

“Fall back!!!” He bellowed. 

The Unsullied surrounding the castle had fully retreated behind walls as he neared the gates. Brienne and Jaime dragged a dying Jorah past the castle gates into an adjacent hallway, as Daenerys rushed past them to throw herself on Ser Jorah, sobbing profusely. The Vale scouts and last of the Dothraki rode back inside before the gates finally closed. Everyone was back inside Winterfell. Jon strode up to the battlements to see what or who was approaching.

He failed to realize how long they’d been fighting. The inky darkness had given way to shades of blue and the pale white rays of daybreak. In the horizon, the first gleams of light shone dimly, bouncing and reflecting off the polished golden breastplates and helmets of two thousand riders on horseback. _The Golden Company._ One horseman rode ahead of the rest, wearing some ridiculously gaudy helmet to denote his rank. _Must be Captain Strickland._ They slowed down as they approached the battleground before coming to a complete stop. Several dozen followed their captain’s lead, dismounting to investigate the piles of ice and vast ocean of rotting corpses strewn about, some still smoking. The captain signaled his men to retreat as he approached the castle walls, removing his helmet and pulling a white handkerchief from his sleeve.

“Stalemate!” Strickland called out, “Let us parlay.”

***

The whole castle was nearing on an entire day without sleep; however, the glow of the night’s victory kept them with enough energy to complete the tasks that still remained. Pyres for the wights needed building. As a sign of good faith, Strickland offered his soldiers help in loading and burning the wights on pyres. Horses needed feeding and reshoeing. Fires needed building so soldiers could be fed. The Great Hall needed converting back its usual form to hold a meeting with Harry Strickland, as well as for the celebratory feast that was to follow. They agreed to meet after sunset today. Strickland quickly assented to terms that the Golden Company would make camp two leagues away from Winterfell. It would allow all parties involved to get sufficient rest before discussing the previous night’s battle and where the armies would stand after discussion.

Daenerys was inconsolable, snapping and hissing at everyone who attempted to remove Ser Jorah’s body from her grasp. Maester Wolkan prescribed milk of the poppy so she could find some respite from her grief through deep sleep. Missandei tried consoling her but her own grief overwhelmed her. Three Unsullied officers laid Grey Worm’s body at her feet, explaining that the white walkers were about to overtake them when he broke through their lines, sacrificing himself to save their lives. She cradled his head in her lap, stroking his forehead, swallowing her tears as she hummed a song from Naath she’d once sung to him to help him fall asleep. She told him he could rest, she promised she would share his story so he would live on in her words and her heart.

The soldiers moved all their fallen comrades into a small room for the memorial ceremony later today. Section by section, the holdfast slowly grew quiet as its occupants succumbed to slumber, sleepy and well fed, grateful to live another day. Shutters and blankets kept out the light as the sun rose higher, the thwarted night relenting to the reign of day. 

***

Looking in both directions for passersby, Jon gave a single soft knock before letting himself inside Sansa’s solar, locking it behind him.

“Sansa?”

“I’m in here."

He opens the door to her chambers, drinking in the sight before him. She’s sprawled out and laying on her stomach facing the door, completely undressed, hair loosened of its braids, legs playfully crossed behind her. As if that weren’t already enough to bring him to full hardness, the _look_ on her face left him speechless. _Lust, yes. He knew that look. More than lust, there was love. Deep, potent and fierce, right there in her eyes._ She smiled at him enticingly and purred,

“Well, if it isn’t the King in the North, Hero of the Battle of Winterfell! You defended and saved a castle full of women and children, nay the whole North from death itself. I say that calls for a special reward. Wouldn’t you?”

_Yes._

She continued, pouting, “But My King is _so_ overdressed and I’m ready to play. I suppose I’ll just… enjoy myself…until He’s ready…” She rolls over and starts to run her hands along her breasts, pausing to pinch her nipple, exhaling gently. Her fingers trace down her legs nestled against her swollen bud, letting out a soft groan as she bites her lip.

He undresses faster than Tormund suckling on a giant’s teat, and climbs over her to claim his reward. 

“What do you have in mind, _My Queen_?” He sucks on her bottom lip, nudging the tip of his cock between her folds as it gathers her growing slickness.

“Something entirely for you, my love. You awakened something in me I never knew existed. There’s so much I want to learn but first, could you teach me how to pleasure you with my mouth, the way you did to me?”

His hips stutter against her folds and he bites his lip in restraint to keep from burying himself into her.

“Oh yes sweet girl, there’s so much I’ll teach you…so much. I gave you the Lord’s Kiss, but I’m not familiar with what it’s called for men…”

She giggles, “I suppose we can name it tonight… What do I do first?”

He dismounts her reluctantly, silently reminding himself he’ll soon be inside her but first, this gift from his sweet girl. Walking over to the chair in the corner, he brings it near their bed, setting a pillow on the floor. He holds out his hand to her, “There’s many ways to do this but this time I’ll sit down here. You can rest on your knees, sweet girl and tuck those silky legs under your gorgeous arse.”

She follows suit, her eyes large and trusting. _And eager. Oh so eager._ His heart swells at her desire to learn how to pleasure him, sending a twitch of impatience directly to his cock. _So precious._

“You can use hands, your mouth, both at the same time, or alone. Lubrication of some sort, like your saliva or some sweet oils help create a friction that builds up to my release. You can start with your hands, grasping firmly as you move your hand up and down. Careful not to grip not too firmly, my love.”

Sansa decides to lick his whole length before placing a sloppy kiss on the tip, tongue swirling around the vein on the underside of his tip. Jon groans, fighting the urge to run his hands through her soft red hair. 

“If or when you’re ready to take me in your mouth, use your lips to cover your teeth before you start. Make sure to breathe through your nose and hollow your cheeks as you suckle and move your mouth. It’ll take more moisture than the seed I make so use the wetness of your own mouth to help your fingers and mouth glide easier along my length. If you choose to fondle the stones underneath my cock, be gentle. You’ll start to see them draw near to my body the closer I am to release.” 

A steady stream of praise flowed out him as he watches her, watching her emotions flit across her face, from curiosity to concentration, from understanding to delight while she pleasures him. Sansa’s mouth is full of him, she barely had half of him in her mouth and he is in _paradise_. Jon watches her savor the taste and texture of his manhood, feeling the weight of him under her tongue. She follows his guidance before trying ideas of her own, listening for his moans. Their eyes meet and her pace begins to quicken as a flush of excitement travels past her hardened nipples as she clenches her thighs together to find some relief. 

Unable to contain himself any longer, he runs his hands through her luscious locks, cradling her head as he slowly starts to rock his hips, hoping this wouldn’t be too much for her. And yet, Sansa surprises him again tonight by moaning against his cock, slowly bobbing her head to meet his thrusts.

Sansa is quite pleased with herself, she feels him growing bigger in her mouth, sensing he’s close to release. Before she can speed up and bring him to spill on her tongue, he pulls her off of him with a _pop_. She whines, her face sullen as she looks up at him, “My King, why did you do that? I want to know what your seed feels like in my mouth…”

Jon carries her to their bed, laying her down. “Sweetheart, did you forget what I asked of you last night?” 

He climbs above her, eyes drifting down the length of her body, admiring the little love bites he’s planted down her neck, breasts, the inside of her thighs. The pattern of bruises on her hips confirm that his fingers left marks on her. _Mine_.

She cocked her head at him, confused, “Forget what?”

His eyes darken, remembering their first time, as he slides into her cunt. “I asked you to keep as much of my cum as you can inside you. Until I put a babe in you, that’s where all my seed belongs.” It pleased him down to his very bones to feel how wet she already was from pleasuring him.

Sansa feels so full but she wants more. Jon stills inside her, letting her adjust to his size as he thumbs her nub, waiting for her walls to flutter around him. However, she had other ideas. Hooking her ankles around his hips, she thrusts up to bring him closer, matching him thrust for thrust as his pace speeds up.

Sansa peaks before he does, bringing his lips to hers so as to the smother the sound her moan. Jon follows behind her soon after, pushing himself as far inside her as he can go, emptying himself in his sweet girl as her walls grow coated with spurt after spurt of his seed deep inside her.

He knows he’ll need to get off of her, need to pull out of her at some point but the euphoria of his release and the lazy stroking of her fingers along his back delays all rational thought. 

“Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Will you stay the night with me?”

“Absolutely.”

*** 

Bran flew above the God’s Eye, perching a giant weirwood branch on the Isle of Faces, hidden from the view of the below. The Night King slid off Viserion’s shoulder, walking towards the tree in the center of the isle. White walkers stand at attention, surrounding the perimeter of the isle. He closes his eyes and starts to focus of the spiral of stones, waiting for the thrum of energy to emanate from the stones. Less than a minute later, the air pressure on the isle begins to shift as the stones flow with a palpable energy, directed towards the Night King’s hands. He feels the power gathering in hands, noticing the difference in potency from The Source, as opposed to the ice blocks or corpses from beyond the Wall. 

Spears, long and jagged, start forming in his progeny’s hands. Spears, swords, hammers and clubs of blue ice continue to form as soon as the walkers drop them to the ground. Satisfied they have enough weaponry, he summons Viserion and leads their marchThere were several villages on the way to King’s Landing. The dead they pick up there will make recruiting the rest of their army much easier than if he’d flown down here himself.

***

Bran’s comes out of his vision in a haste, summoning Maester Wolkan. His thoughts race as to what needs to be done with this latest development.

“Milord?”

“Maester Wolkan, I found the Night King. He’s leaving the Isle of Faces, heading towards King’s Landing. We need to send out every raven we have and alert each great house that the Night King is rebuilding his army. If he takes King’s Landing, he’ll have over a million people added to his numbers. Send a raven to the maesters of every holdfast between here and King’s Landing to find a safe place to send people. Alert them that the women and children will need to gather provisions and immediately evacuate their villages to head for places surrounded by water, while the men must gather and wait for us by the Kingsroad as we meet them heading south. I‘d rather not wake everyone after they’ve just fallen asleep. There’s nothing we can do at the moment except alert them and create a plan tomorrow.” 

“Very well, milord. I’ll see to it the ravens are fed while I start on the scrolls.”

“Allow me to help you scribe them, it’ll go faster if we both work.”

“Very good, milord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TNR will begin to stray from Season 8 from this point forward when it comes to major plot points and character arcs like Pol!Jon, Dark!Dany, Cersei, The Golden Company, Night King etc. There’ll still be plenty of Stark family feels, dialogue and of course, Jon and Sansa moments. Stay tuned!


	5. Family, Duty, Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath from The Battle of Winterfell

 

Jon calls everyone’s attention in the Great Hall as people find their places. The chamber is crammed, seats long gone. Those gathered are relegated to standing or sitting on the floor. Conversations stop as he raises his voice for all to hear, “Before we begin tonight’s feast, we have some news as to the location of the Night King.”

Before he can begin, Lyanna Mormont stands to address crowd, the room silencing in respect for the wee Lady She Bear. “There’s something else we need to discuss before we start. It has just been brought to my attention that the small folk are hearing rumors about Jon Snow, who we thought was Ned Stark’s bastard. They say he is, in fact, a Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. What say you Jon Snow?”

A din of whispers blankets the room as she surveys the crowd's shock to the news she’s just revealed. She considers the surprise on his face, but stands her ground, demanding an answer.

Jon turns to Sansa, Arya and Bran before addressing Lyanna with a sigh, “Aye, this is the truth. They were in love. Their marriage was recorded in High Septon Maynard’s diary at the Citadel. Bran confirmed this in his visions.”

A palpable silence replaces the crowd’s murmurs, as the air thickens with tension. Daenerys had been distracted all day, leaving immediately after the memorial service, cloistered in her chambers. The revelation brings her back into the present, face reddening with contained emotion.

Bronze Yohn Royce faces Jon sternly, “Didn’t you think the North and the Vale have the right to know? For all we know, you were made aware of this before you left for Dragonstone. Perhaps you planned to give the Northern and Vale forces to your aunt? Were you ever going to divulge this information ?”

Jon pauses to keep his voice even, ignoring his slight and addressing the room, “That is not the way things happened. I did not know before I left for Dragonstone. Yes, I would have shared this at an appropriate time because it doesn’t matter to me right now, not when the Night King is still around.”

Lady Mormont quickly retorts back to Jon, “It matters when that Targaryen is the only living son of Prince Rhaegar. It matters when we named _that_ man King in the North.” 

A smattering of “ayes” and thumping of mugs signal agreement at her words.

The exasperation in Jon’s voice is growing, “I’ll stop you there. I don’t want it. Daenerys does.” He faces the Dragon Queen, “She’ll be a good queen for all of us.”

Lady Mormont is unrelenting, “What of after? Who will be her heir? Several reliable sources say she cannot bear children. Is this so? Then what will happen to the peace we’ve fought so hard for? We need to know the children of Westeros won’t be raised in conflict and bloodshed their whole lives.”

Tyrion looks at Daenerys, pain etched on his face, as they both know they had this exact conversation at Dragonstone, until she shut him out. She suspects anything she says right now can be seen in negative light. Deferring to Tyrion, he replies to Lady Mormont, “A proposal has been discussed among us. After her reign, her husband Jon Snow will succeed her.”

Lord Royce scoffs at Tyrion, “That is not a practical solution. Targaryen tradition or not, the small folk will be uneasy about an aunt marrying her nephew. More importantly than that, decades without ensuring a legacy of succession will destabilize peace within the kingdoms.”

Tyrion senses this situation is spiraling out of his control but is at a loss at how to contain it. His mind is racing. _Northern politics is blatant and without pretense. No wonder Stark men don’t do well south._ Daenerys is clearly livid at these new developments. Making eye contact with Varys, he already knows he won’t be looking forward to their conversations after the meeting adjourns. “Could we continue this discussion in private, at a better time?” 

Lady Mormont flatly refuses. “No. We’re fighting to live. Our people need to know what sort of future they’re living for. What are your plans for the North? What are we fighting for?”

Daenerys answers the question without hesitation; she’s already considered this very thing. “I will reinstate Tyrion Lannister’s annulled marriage to Sansa Stark. They will rule the North together.”

Lord Royce stands to his feet, gritting his teeth in thinly concealed anger, “The Knights of the Vale are here to fight because of Lady Sansa. I reject being led by a Lannister. If she is to wed him, we shall leave Winterfell immediately and return home. A Lannister is not to be trusted.”

A significant amount of Northmen and Vale forces pound the tables, roaring in agreement. Daenerys sits down to ponder on her next move.

Lyanna Mormont nods at Yohn Royce in agreement, “Bear Island is of the same mind as the Vale. That union benefits only two houses, Targaryen and Lannister. Any political unions must create alliances for the majority of the kingdoms. This is the _only_ way peace will prevail.”

Maester Wolkan steps forward timidly, catching everyone by surprise, “Forgive me, my lords and ladies, Your Grace, could I offer a possible solution? It appears three issues needing resolution are that Your Grace needs to secure Targaryen heirs to continue your work, a marriage alliance that benefits the majority of the Kingdoms is needed to sustain peace and the Starks must retain oversight as Wardens of the North. The Queen has named her nephew as her heir. If her nephew were to marry a noble lady with the right connections, it will keep the peace throughout Westeros, reestablish the Queen’s house, thereby ensuring her legacy. If the Lady of Winterfell consents to a marriage alliance with the Queen’s heir, the North, the Vale, the Riverlands and the Crownlands would stand to benefit from that union. That is more than half of Westeros’ lands and people. This also has potential to rally support with the small folk as well as appease the other great houses.”

Sansa’s jaw drops in shock at hearing the maester’s words. She feels all eyes on her, and clears her throat. 

“Thank you Maester Wolkan. You as well, Lady Mormont and Lord Royce, these are valid and practical questions you raise. I am as taken aback as all of you at this information. As Ned Stark’s daughter, it relieves me to hear his honor remains intact. I confess of wanting my mother’s approval growing up, so I distanced myself from Jon Snow. I never knew him. It was only until we reunited at Castle Black that I saw Father’s character in Jon’s actions, and apologized for mistreating him. Because of this, I know he would never deliberately withhold information for personal gain. The Queen herself agrees that Jon Snow is honorable and true to his word. I won’t speak for my cousin but if I know Jon, I believe he would do his duty to uphold peace in the Seven Kingdoms. As for myself, House Tully’s words are ‘Family, Duty, Honor’ and I would do my duty for the realm and for peace.”

The tension in the Great Hall begins to dissipate. Seemingly satisfied, Lady Mormont and Lord Royce return to their seats. The focus returns to Jon as he lets out a tense breath and addresses everyone, 

“Aye, this is all very sudden but I will do what must be done to ensure the Queen’s legacy of change will continue into future generations. The small folk must have _something_ to give them hope as we face the Night King. Knowing the realm will be safe and peaceful for their children will motivate us all to see beyond this war.”

The Great Hall erupts in sound. Tyrion surveys the crowd, noticing soldiers, smallfolk, wildlings and lords are all in accordance with this idea for succession. The only person visibly dissenting is the Queen herself. He notices, to her credit, she has not said a word. As upset as she is, this _could_ work in their favor as a goodwill gesture for the southern kingdoms. He just needs to convince the Queen.

Jon gestures for everyone to settle down. “We still need to discuss the Night King before we feast. Let us adjourn for a few minutes so we can shift our focus back onto the current matter. I won’t speak for the Lady of Winterfell, but I myself need a few minutes to wrap my head around what was agreed upon. Return here in five minutes time so we can review our strategy moving forward.”

The crowd empties quickly, everyone keen to discuss what just happened. The Targaryen small council huddle closely to listen to the Queen’s hushed whispers. Jon offers his hand to Sansa as they hasten to a side room, locking the door behind him.

Jon grabs her by the waist and twirls her around the room, overjoyed. They stifle their voices and laughter lest anyone overhear them speak.

“My love, I knew you were the cleverest woman alive. You did it!”

“Jon, _we_ did it. You were so convincing, you had _me_ believing your shock.”

He draws her near, savoring her warmth in his arms. “We’ll celebrate tonight, my love, after the feast…”

Her hands snake down to his arse, pulling him closer, “With pleasure, my King.”

He tuts at the gesture , “We should head back now. Naughty girl, don’t start something you can’t finish. This is the _second_ time I warn you about this. Next time, you’ll be punished. Do you understand?”

Sansa contains her smile. “Yes, my King. I’ll do my best to be your good girl.” 

Jon starts walking away when she continues, “Unless being your naughty girl feels better…”

He stops in his tracks, still facing the door. Turning around, he beckons her with a crook of his finger. As she approaches him, seeing the fire in his eyes sends waves of nervous excitement coursing through her body.

He growls in her ear, “That’s number three, naughty girl. You asked for it and you got it. You’ll be feeling the consequences of your punishment tomorrow, I assure you of that.” He exhales to gather his wits, walking back into the Great Hall. 

The crowd forms once more. Jon gives Lady Mormont and Lord Royce a small, polite nod before returning to his chair. He’ll have to thank them both in private later for the believable performance they gave. Although knowing it was false, being on the receiving end of Lyanna’s wrath still made him uneasy. He pities anyone who is stupid enough to cross her. Sansa comes out of the room looking infinitely serene as she takes her seat. _Clever minx._ The Targaryen small council found their places as well. All faces turn to him, expectant. It was time.

“Bran located the Night King after the battle was won. He was on the Isle of Faces with a host of white walkers. Less than what we faced, but enough to endanger the population of King’s Landing. Although Maester Wolkan sent out all our ravens to as many holdfasts as we’re capable of, we expect the Night King to bulk up his army with small villages south of the God’s Eye before heading to King’s Landing. This should slow them down somewhat. We can only estimate but we anticipated them to arrive there in a weeks time. If we left immediately, it will still take about three weeks time if we take the Kingsroad at a breakneck pace. The Capital _will_ fall. However, that is not to say the battle is lost. We were outnumbered here and we managed to plan and execute a successful defensive strategy. If we wait for the battle to come to us, we’ll be outnumbered beyond chance of victory. We _must_ go south. Lord Royce will now discuss our plan of action.”

Lord Royce acknowledges the room, “Maester Wolkan sent ravens to many holdfasts in area, as well as to the Eyrie and Riverrun. Brandon Stark also sent ravens to Greywater Watch. We will be receiving regular communication with the Citadel, as all maesters are scouring ancient scrolls for anything to do with the Long Night, Night King, caches of dragon glass and forging Valyrian steel. A raven arrived from Dorne before the battle, pledging their army to fight against the dead. It also says the Lady Melisandre has arrived with a thousand Red Priests, soldiers of R’hllor, called the Fiery Hand who will fight as well. After the parlay with the Golden Company, Captain Strickland has broken contract with Cersei Lannister and sworn to fight for the living. They are taking the Kingsroad south tomorrow, to be received by the remaining kin of Lord Tully’s wife at the Twins. All southern men capable of fighting will join with them there and will take the Green Fork to the Red Fork to Riverrun. As soon as they arrive, they will begin to gather resources from the Whispering Wood to prepare our defenses. Lady Sansa, would you explain the plans for our departure and for the smallfolk evacuation?”

Jon pulls out Sansa’s chair for her to stand. Her clear, steady voice carries all the way to the back of the Great Hall, “Lords in the Westerlands, the Reach, the Stormlands and Dorne will send supplies, food, men or all three. Villages in the Riverlands will evacuate to the Westerlands, where they will be received by Houses Vance, Brax, Lydden, Serret and Lefford. We will depart in two waves. The first will leave in three days time, the next three days after that. Caravans of cargo are to be transported from Winterfell to White Harbor. We will sail through the Bite to meet with House Reed, who will travel with us to the Twins. All people, weaponry and provisions will be loaded and transported by ship to Riverrun. Lord Tully consented to having Riverrun as our base of operations. Will we use the natural boundaries to our advantage on the battlefield. They may have the numbers but we now have all of Westeros backing the living. We fought last night against greater odds and prevailed. We will prevail once again. Thank you for listening. We will gather here in one hours time. Tonight we celebrate the lives of the ones we’ve lost. We also celebrate what it means to be alive, and what it means to fight for the ones we love. Our meeting is adjourned.”

She smiles. The whoops and cheers of soldiers and smallfolk in the room is heartening. There is a plan in place and help on the way. If their hope is restored and they believe in the vision, half the battle is already won.

***

The singers and musicians heighten the festivities as those gathered inside and out and clearly in their cups, sing along with ”The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” "The Dornishman's Wife,” and one drunken man’s solo of ”Bessa the Barmaid.”

Tormund thrusts a horn at Jon’s chest, “All of it. Go on.”

Jon shakes his head, “No, not in one go.”

Sansa smiles at Jon with encouragement and love shining in her eyes, “Go on, I believe in you.”

He looks down at her. _And I you, sweet girl._ He grabs the horn from Tormund and chugs steadily, wiping his mouth with his hands before giving the empty horn back in the midst of a riot of cheers from the free folk gathered around them.

He’d given up trying to appear impartial whilst sitting in between the Lady of Winterfell and the Dragon Queen. His true queen was a favorite amongst the freefolk, comfortable in verbal sparring with the likes of Tormund Giantsbane without missing a beat. Whereas the Dragon Queen was present but refused to engage with anyone, not even her own small council. He gave her a polite smile before returning to the freefolk, who were now plying Sansa with a full mug of ale.

He laughed, “Go on then. Turnabout’s fair play.” Grinning, she took the mug from Tormund, drinking it all in one go. Raucous applause erupts in the Great Hall as she realizes more than the freefolk were watching. Their joy is welcome change from somber mood of less than a day before. There is still much to do but at least for tonight, everyone is carefree and enjoying themselves.

***

Gendry Waters overhears the sound of someone shooting arrows and knows he’d found her. 

“It’s nighttime, it’s freezing. Everyone’s celebrating. You should be celebrating with them…”

Arya loosened another arrow, without so much as a glance at him. “I _am_ celebrating.”

Gendry takes her hand in his so she could face him. He searches her eyes, looking for something, “I am too: the fact that we’re both alive. Listen I’m not the lord of anything and nothing will change the fact that I grew up a poor bastard living in the shadows. I don’t know if we’ll live to see victory against the dead. All I know is you’re beautiful. I love you and life won’t be worth anything if you’re not with me. So be with me.” 

Arya throws down her bow, dropping her arrow to wrap her arms around his neck and join her lips with his. When they separate, she cups his cheek with her hand, pausing to choose her words carefully, “You’re a good man. You’ll be a wonderful husband and father one day. Any one would be lucky to have you, but I'm not that woman. That’s not me.”

He steps back confused, then irked, “What does that mean, Arya? That’s not me either, but I’ll make it my own. I don’t need a lordship or lands or glory. I need _you_. If you don’t accept my proposal because you don’t love me and can’t see building a life with me, fine. Tell me. I can respect that. But if you deny me because you have some misguided view that you’re sparing me or that I will smother you into becoming something you’re not, then you are not the bravest person I’ve ever met. You’re just another coward.” 

_It’s been a long time since someone’s spoken to me like that. I don’t need to play the Game of Faces to know he’s speaking the truth. A long time ago, I wanted him to be my family. If I’m being honest, I still do. But if he knew the whole truth, would he change his mind?_

She starts walking circles around him, eyebrow raised, “Would you kill with me?”

“I’ve had enough practice; I reckon I can keep up. We’ll fight side by side, and I’ll forge your weapons.” He’d half expected her to leave after what he just said, unsure it was the right move but the fact that she’s still here makes his heart beat wildly.

“And if it means you might die?” She stops to consider his face, studying his features.

He knows she’s testing him, “If it means I die in your arms or saving you, then I don’t know a better way to go.”

She continues her interrogation, “What about children? Have you ever wanted children?”

“If it means not being able to marry you, then no. We can explore other lands instead, if that’s what you want. Don’t you understand? If we survive fighting against the dead, I’m prepared for any future I’ll have, as long as you’re in it.”

She stops to face him, ready to admit one of her only fears.

“Gendry, after I left you, I went to Braavos for training. With the Faceless Men, part of the training meant stripping away who I was. I wasn’t Arya; I was No One. No One with no name, and no desires. Except to kill for the highest bid. I lost my eyesight and regained it. I tried to kill, but ended up only killing for revenge or to save myself. I killed the girl who wanted to kill me, and finally left after the Many Faced God got the life He was owed. My time in Braavos changed me. I stopped feeling. When I came to Winterfell, I slowly started to feel like myself again. I want to be with you but I don’t know if you’ll be getting the same girl you remember.”

He closed the distance between them, looking into her expressive eyes and taking her hands in his, “I’m willing to take that risk.”

A smile reaches the corner of her mouth, threatening to become a full, toothy grin. “Alright then. If we survive this war, let’s be together. I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

“Fine by me.” He lifts her chin to plant a soft kiss on her lips.

Arya holds his eye contact coyly, “Then take me to my chambers. I don’t see a reason why would should stop fucking if we’re together. Stay with me in my quarters until we head south. I’ve never been a lady and I don’t give two shits what anyone says.” 

He chuckles, pretending to bow and watches her roll her eyes at him. “As you wish, my lady.” 

***

Tyrion Lannister leaves the head table to sit with his brother once he realizes the Queen wants nothing to do with the festivities. Ser Brienne, Podrick and Bronn, who had just arrived, are all seated around them, everyone well in their cups.

He stands up on the bench once the music has died down a little, “I once walked into a brothel with a honeycomb and a jackass. The madame says, ‘What can we do for you?’ I told her, ‘I need a woman to lay with, for mine has left me.’ The madame says, ‘Whatever for? And what's with the honeycomb and the mule?’ I reply, ‘My woman found a genie in a bottle, and he granted her three wishes. The first was for a house fit for a queen, so he gave her this damn honeycomb. The second wish was that she have the nicest ass in all the land, so he gave her this damn donkey…’ The madame asks, ‘and what about the third wish?’ I answer her saying, ‘Well… she asked the genie to make my cock hang down past my knee.’ The madame replies with, ‘Well that one's not so bad eh?’ I tell her, ‘Not so bad!? I used to be six foot three!’”

The hall roars with laughter, and for the first time, Tyrion feels welcome in the North. He may be an outsider and a Lannister, but for tonight, right now, he is just another drinking companion.

***

Sansa just finished undressing when she hears Jon’s knock on her chamber doors. Her mind was running through all manner of depraved thoughts after he told her she is to be punished tonight. The result would be evident as soon as he sees her. Her folds are _drenched_. _Seven hells, Jon wouldn't even need to see it,_ she could _hear_ her slickness as she started walking to meet him halfway.

He cocks his head admiring her, his eyes drift down and up her curves, grinning, “Good evening, beautiful bride.”

_Bride._ The word sends a rosy blush from her cheeks to her breasts. _It was finally a reality. Father had promised her a husband who was brave, gentle and strong. After much heartache and pain, here he is. Better late than never. She had the rest of her life to look forward to with this man. The father of her future babes. The author of her sexual awakening. Gods she needs him, punishment or not. He could never harm her._

He starts unlacing his jerkin, before she raises her hand, “Allow me, my King.”

Jon loves the way she bites her lip in concentration. _She’s getting good at this._ The mirror in the corner catches his eye, a moan escaping his throat as he watches her removing every last piece of clothing on his body. He wraps his arms around her waist, coaxing her to sway with him to some inaudible melody. _Our first dance._

She leans into the warmth of his body, sighing in contentment. Until his fingers tiptoe along her body to tickle her side. She shrieks and backs away, grin widening as she takes in the mischievous gleam in his eyes. She takes off, sprinting to the table in her solar. The hungry look in his eye is growing, along with his cock. _This excites him…_ She circles the table, laughing as he pursues her, anticipating her next move.She runs to her chambers, squealing with glee as she tries to close the door, but its useless as he wrests it open with no effort. He scoops her up in his arms and tosses her on their bed, climbing above to finish his tickle torture. 

Tears stream down her face as she submits to a fit of giggles from his fingers teasing her body. Her laughter quickly turns to moans as he buries the tip of his length in her to nudge her sensitive bud. 

“Naughty girl, you can’t escape your punishment. You need to learn from your mistakes. That’s what good girls do, isn’t that right?”

She can’t imagine feeling more joy than she does right now. “Yes, my love.”

He climbs off her to wrap her legs around his shoulders. “Precious bride, you’re so wet for me already. What have you been thinking about?” He kisses her folds slowly, drawing out her moans.

“You, my King. Always you.”

He chuckles between her thighs, sucking more bruises on them, “My love, soon you’ll be my lady wife. That means I will assert my rights as your lord husband and dole out punishment as I see fit. You disobeyed me after I warned you twice. As punishment, I forbid you to peak, either by my hand or yours. I’ll sup on your cunt and bring you to the edge as many times as I please. But you _must_ have discipline and tell me when to stop. If you’re a good girl, you can peak on our wedding night. If you’re naughty again or you find your release without me, you won’t peak then either. Do you understand, my love?”

“Yes,” she whispers. The thought leaves her breathless. They’d done this their first time together. The next few days before they wed will be _agonizing_. How could she last days? If her release after being denied her peak for a few minutes was exhilarating… she couldn’t imagine the pleasures of their wedding night after going without for _days_. 

A roguish idea crossed Jon’s mind, taking control of his cock. He curls his fingers into her warmth and licks her nub, reciting, “Slickness gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until she peaks.” 

Drawing her folds into his mouth, he sucks them gently, “I shall take no woman but my own, bury my cock in no one but her, and father all her children.” 

Swirling his tongue around her nub in hard circles, he moans, “I shall sup from no cunt but my wife’s. I shall live between her thighs.” 

Fingers drenched, placing two, then three in her, he caresses deeply, “She will hunger for my sword in the darkness. I am the stroker of her walls.” 

Mouth on her cunt, he blows cool air across her sensitive folds and watches as a shiver travels up her spine, “I am the fire that burns against her body, the mouth that brings her release,” 

He sets down her legs to part them and thrusts his cock in her, seating himself fully, delighting in her gasps, “her moans will wake the sleepers, I will always guard the warmth of her bed.” 

She bucks her hips into his, as his pace becomes fast and rough, “I pledge my life and honor to bedding my lady wife, for this night and all my nights to come.”

“Gods Jon, stop please _stop_!” Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, gritting her teeth in restraint.

He chuckles, “Sweet girl, already close to your peak? You must have been keen all day. I’ll think I’ll bring you to the edge once more before I pump you full of my cum, my love.” 

Jon plants kisses down her body languidly, taking his time to suckle more bruises onto the tender skin of her collarbone, neck, breasts and thighs. Pausing to take a nipple in his mouth, he clasps onto her with his teeth, drawing shudders from her body.

His lips trail up to her ear, taking her lobe into his mouth and whispers as his fingers return to her folds, “Tell me about those lonely nights you lay awake thinking about me. What are three things you thought of when you touched yourself, my love?”

She revels in the sensation until he stops. Fucking herself on his fingers, he withdraws and she whimpers in frustration.

“Tell me,” he growls, hungrily lapping at her nub.

“I imagined you— _Oh Gods_ —I imagined you taking me like a wolf, fast and rough in the Great Hall after dismissing everyone.”

“My filthy girl, I’ll make that happen, you wait and see. What’s next?”

Sansa feels the tension building once more. If she focuses on it, she’ll peak. Trying to think of anything but her release, her mind races for an answer. “I’d, I’d, I’d pleasure you with my mouth and before you peak, I’d lay down for you to spill all over me. On my chin, on my breasts, on my mound…everywhere. Oh Gods, then you’d rub your seed into my skin and we’d go to sleep that way.”

“Oh Gods,” This time it came from Jon. He moved above her and slid inside, spreading her legs wider to accommodate his girth. 

“Last one.” His voice was hoarse, beads of sweat starting to form on his forehead. Her words destroy the last shred of self control he has, as he starts rutting into her.

Sansa is dangerously close to the brink of her peak. “I’d peak hardest when I’d think about you putting a babe in me, spilling inside me deep and long, fucking me as I grow large with your babe, my breasts full of milk and you taking my nipples in your mouth. OH GODS! STOP JON!!”

He stops at her command, reaching his own release. He clenches her arse with both hands, and together they feel streams of his seed surging deep inside her, coating the entrance of her womb with thick globs of his cum. She’s relieved he stopped so quickly. She was just about to peak.

Jon pulls out of her, his cock slapping wetly against his thigh, as he holds her close to stroke her hair. 

“My sweet girl, my love… you _destroy_ me. How am I ever supposed to hold a meeting in the Great Hall without wanting to take you on the table? I thought I’d be able to stay away from your chambers until our wedding night but now I’m not so sure.” 

“Mmhmm.” The exertion of holding back her release has drained her of energy. Sleep is a brief respite from her restlessness as she succumbs to the temporary relief of slumber.

He waits until she drifts off to sleep before getting dressed to leave. In a matter of days, he’ll never need to leave her bed again. The babe they’re making will be trueborn, conceived out of love. As will all the ones to follow. He never knew he wanted a big family until she confessed she felt the same for him. And if tonight is any indication, she wanted as many as he did. No matter what happens in the next few weeks, he’ll do everything in his power to protect that future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Jon and Sansa's wedding!  
> *Tyrion’s joke was borrowed from Reddit. Not sure where its originated from but it's pretty much how I imagined it would go.  
> * What do you think happened to Cersei? Where are the Greyjoys? Will they learn anything from Howland Reed? Let me know what you think :)  
> *Thank you for reading... I'd love suggestions, so please leave a comment if you’re so inclined!


	6. The Starks Will Endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa’s Wedding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Retcon on Sansa’s coronation dress: It’s actually her wedding dress. The only change I would make is to change the color of the black trim. It’s described as white fur with a beaded head designed to look like Ghost. It’s the longest chapter yet, over 6K and over 3K of this is pure Jonsa. Enjoy!

 

_“The winters are hard, but the Starks will endure. We always have.”_

_—Eddard Stark to Robert Baratheon_

 

Tyrion hears the sound of glass shattering against a wall growing louder, as he approaches her chambers. _This is becoming a commonplace occurrence._ _Since the reveal of Jon Snow’s parentage and consequently, his coerced engagement to his cousin, she’s been a bit more…absent minded._ Broken glasses, chairs, combs. She’d even bent a spoon once, which he tried wrapping his mind around. _She’s stronger than she looks._ He knocks on her door anyway. 

“Enter!” He hears the fire and blood dripping from her one lone word.

Daenerys sits by the window while Missandei braids her hair. He steps over the broken glass littering the floor to gauge her disposition today. Despite relying more and more on milk of the poppy, sleeping longer and more often, she looks tired. She’d taken Jorah Mormont’s and Greyworm’s deaths hard. Not to mention Viserion. It seems the North does not agree with the Queen.

After much cajoling, Missandei confided in him that Daenerys had all but admitted she realized the depth of her feelings for Jorah only after he died. Jorah _worshipped_ her, never once demanding anything beyond what she wanted to give him. He died doing what he loved, fighting for her. What they had was different, special. Daenerys felt nothing when she made Daario stay in Meereen because it was a mutually convenient arrangement. Jorah’s feelings for his Khaleesi were inconvenient to him, but it never seemed to bother him much, even when Jon Snow came into their lives. 

“She sees him now for what he was, and mourns what could have been,” Missandei whispered. So Tyrion stopped pressing his Queen and let her find her own manner of grieving after all her losses. Then came the news of Rhaegar Targaryen’s son, bringing back her inner dragon, and the fire and blood that go with it.

_However, she was improving._ She was eating again. Where she’d isolate herself before, now she took to riding Drogon, flying around the North for hours at a time. _That has to count for something._ Sometimes she’d fly close to the ground, skimming the village roofs as the smallfolk looked on, terrified. It made him nervous. Drogon had thick skin but anyone could shoot an arrow at her and everything they worked for would be lost.

He pours himself a glass of wine, “Your Grace, Jon Snow’s wedding is tonight. It would be in your best interest to make an appearance. It would show your subjects that you support the wishes of the Lords and smallfolk to see your heir wed in an advantageous match.”

“Wed to that power hungry, disrespectful little cunt you mean!” she spat out, “She made him do this, I _know_ it! I knew the moment I spoke with her, she wants my crown!! _This_ is her way of getting it. Now that she has him, she’ll make him press his claim to my throne. Jon Snow is _mine_. You’re my Hand. _Tell me_ what we can do to stop it.”

He starts pacing. _As if he hadn’t thought of this very thing since it happened._ She’d threatened his position once again that day, immediately demanding a solution after their meeting. He and Varys deliberated over the genealogies of the Great Houses, yet came back empty handed. If he suggested some distant, barely flowered Lannister third cousin, he’d be accused of nepotism. House Baratheon is dead. As well as House Frey and Tyrell. There are no female heirs from Houses Martell or Arryn. A Greyjoy union wouldn’t benefit anyone, as they would be independent after Daenerys’s coronation. It _had_ to be Sansa if they wanted the political backing of the Southern Lords.

He tries to frame his words in a way that is palatable to her, “Your Grace, we discussed this. Part of breaking the wheel is playing the Great Game. When you win, you will break it. Until that happens, we must remind ourselves all our allies are dead so the news of Jon Snow’s parentage works in our favor! Instead of making a claim to the Iron Throne, he supports your reign. Your heir was raised by Ned Stark, a man greatly admired in the Seven Kingdoms. If the Southern Lords see his loyalty to you, they will kneel. This strategic union benefits the majority of your kingdoms; it behooves us to see it through. Your support of this marriage alliance will prove to the Southern Lords once and for all that you are not only a military force to be reckoned with, but a political one as well.”

Daenerys mulls this over, as Tyrion hands her a glass of wine. _He has a point. It all comes down to one choice. Jon Snow or the Iron Throne. I gave up Daario for the throne; I could do it again, couldn’t I? Ugh, of all people, why do I have to give him to that red headed whore? What do dragons eat anyway? My enemies, wolf bitch! Poor Jon, having to bed his sister. Well, the jokes on her. He fucked me first. At least I gave him something to think about when he’s inside her_. _But damn I miss that magnificent cock. Maybe I can visit his chambers one night in Riverrun when she’s distracted and remind him of what he’s missing…_

“Fine. I’ll be there. But I will be unwell and unable to attend the feast after. We’ll also leave for White Harbor first thing in the morning. I don’t want to be in this castle a minute longer, simply waiting around to leave, while he beds that whore.”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

 

*** 

 

“Your Grace, once I examine you, we can discuss any symptoms you may be experiencing,” Qyburn replies gently, hoping not to distress her any further.

Cersei Lannister lays on the bed, lost in her thoughts while Qyburn prods her changing body. _The babe hasn’t kicked in a few days. It could be nothing, like he said. But still… could the prophecy be right after all? It_ has _to live. This babe is hope. Hope that if Maggy the Frog was wrong about how many children I’ll have, then she’s wrong about everything, especially about that silver haired bitch taking my throne and the monstrous little beast who serves her. If I escaped those dead things, then I can escape them all._ _The little birds who delivered that information are probably all dead now, like most of the villages south of the Gods Eye._

Cersei decreed the gates of King’s Landing were to be closed once she received word the Army of the Dead were headed towards King’s Landing. _That should hold them long enough for her to escape. There are a million people between her and the dead. She would be long gone before they reached the Red Keep._

She turns her head, absently inspecting the room and rolling her eyes at the sheer amount of carved, painted, and stone dragons strewn about. _No wonder the Targaryen whore was in such a foul mood…What a miserable castle! How could someone_ live _amongst such hideous decorations? Dragonstone offers me nothing except its proximity to King’s Landing, and perhapssome petty vengeance. If my enemies wanted to win the Iron Throne, they shouldn't have told me the white walkers can’t cross water, and then immediately leave this safe fucking island to go chase the dead things! Imbeciles. Let them die by the thousands before the Golden Company eliminates what’s left of the traitors. Surely they must be almost there in the Godsforsaken North. Qyburn’s heard nothing from the little birds in the North, could they all be dead already? They certainly must be, if the dead made their way South. What a shame. I should liked to have seen the Dragon cunt, her Northern pet Jon Snow and his idiot sister Sansa at the hands of Ser Gregor. The Gods had never made a stupider Stark than that little dove. While Ser Gregor’s gifts would never be conversation, or thinking for that matter, his talents lie elsewhere. What he’d done to Septa Unella was positively artistic. He’d would’ve done worse with them._

Qyburn frowns, finishing his examination “Your Grace, everything appears to be in order. By all accounts, the babe should be healthy. Are you experiencing any sharp pains?” 

“None.”

“Bleeding?”

“None.”

“Very well then. Get some bed rest, and more sleep than you think you need. I can prescribe a sleeping draught if you want something stronger than what you already take. Have Ser Gregor summon me and I’ll begin straight away.” The Hand of the Queen departs as quickly as he came. 

Cersei cradles her stomach, admiring the hard little bump against her hand. _You and me, little one. We’re the only Lannisters that matter._

 

***

 

The opalescent moon draped high in the sapphire sky, illuminating the tender wisps of snowflakes gently falling onto Sansa’s lips. She walks along the candle lined path, heart beating wildly. For joy this time, unlike the last. During the day she kept Jon away from her chambers; otherwise, she wouldn’t have been able to finish her dress and his cloak in four days time. During the night, he’d sneak in to bring her to the brink of her peak and then sneak back out, but not before filling her to the brim with his seed. The accretion of her tension would have driven her mad, had not she kept busy to hold her frustration at bay. With the help of seven amazingly skilled Northern women, who were about as young as Old Nan, the vision she had of a bluish grey dress became a reality. 

They embroidered blue winter roses along the collar, trimming the edges with tiny blue beads. Slender steel armor encases the bodice of her dress in a weirwood branch pattern. The train of her gown is embroidered with red beaded weirwood leaves, matching the beading on the inside of her sleeves. Her fur stole had taken them the majority of their time. An ivory fur collar trails down her shoulders, joining with long, flowing sleeves. One side bears Tully scales running down its length, the other is fashioned to resemble a white direwolf, ending in a beaded white direwolf head with red jeweled eyes. She’d all but forgotten the bruises on her body until the old women were dressing her. If the ladies notice the fresh, red love bites as they help her lace up her gown, they keep respectfully silent. Only one smiles at her knowingly, whispering gently, “Gods bless you with a happy marriage, milady. He is an honorable man.”

The austere Northern fur-collared cloak she commissioned for their wedding is almost an exact duplicate of the first present she’d ever made for him: the cloak she gifted him before they left Castle Black. It still looked like the one Father wore. The only difference is the embossed leather straps. Where the original bore two direwolves, facing as they crossed over his chest, this cloak had one strap with the Stark sigil, the other strap bearing a Targaryen sigil. However, what made Jon’s heart swell with pride as he fastened it onto him was the raised leather writing inside the straps, private words visible to no one but him. One strap read “I am hers, and she is mine” while the other said, “I’ll protect you, I promise.”

Sansa watches the glow of light dance and flicker from the lanterns held under the faces of those who came to bear witness. Jon and Sansa insisted on a small gathering. With Arya’s hand in hers, she walks past Lady Mormont, Lord Royce, Ser Brienne and Jaime, Podrick, Gendry, Ser Davos, and Tormund. Daenerys, Tyrion and Varys attend as well, their faces neutral out of respect for the Queen. 

Jon stands underneath the Heart Tree, speaking quietly with Bran at his side until they both notice her approaching. Jon eyes grow wide in wonder as he takes in Sansa’s radiant face, ruddy lips and stunning dress. He remembers the first time he complimented her embroidery, admiring the wolf bit on her dress. Tonight, her dress brings out the blue in her eyes and warmth of her auburn waves draped down her back. She smiles at him shyly, and he swears to the Gods he’ll remember this moment for as long as he lives.

The sight of her Lord Husband sends heat rushing between her thighs. His beard is carefully trimmed. His lips look more full, supple and inviting than ever. He wears his hair loose, exactly how she likes it, cascading to his shoulders. The aroma of fresh evergreen oils wafts in the air from his glossy black curls, as the wind delivers his scent to her. He stands with pride, his grey eyes soft and warm in the frosty night. His cloak fits him perfectly. He _is_ perfection.

Arya leads her to the gathering around the heart tree.

A silence comes over them as Bran demands, “Who comes before the Old Gods?”  

Arya speaks the same words House Stark has said for generations, her voice ringing clear, 

“A woman trueborn and noble, Sansa of House Stark has come to beg the blessing of the Gods for her marriage. Who comes to claim her?”

Jon looks into Sansa’s eyes. It hits him once more _.This is really happening._ He declares boldly,

“I, Jon of House Targaryen, have come to claim her. Who gives this bride away?”

He pretends not to see the tears forming at the corners of Arya’s eyes, her emotion affecting him deeply. She faces Jon, surprised at her own tears as she composes herself. “Arya, of House Stark gives her away.”

He strolls over to his breathtaking bride, taking Sansa’s hand from Arya’s who whispers to him, “Don’t cry.” Chuckling, he whispers back, “Speak for yourself.” 

He leads Sansa towards Bran, his hand squeezing hers.

Bran looks up and asks, “Will you take this man?"

The feeling in his voice is making her emotional. The Bran who asks her is not the Three Eyed Raven, but the boy she once knew. “I take this man.”

Jon and Sansa join hands once more, kneeling before the Heart Tree so the Old Gods can witness their union. 

A moment is spent in silent prayer by the entire wedding party.

_Gods, I don’t know why I returned from death. You may have given me breath and a heartbeat, but Sansa gave me life. For as long as I draw breath, I will show her I love her in everything I do. I vowed to protect her so please watch over my sweet girl if I cannot. Give us a family, a home and time to build a life together. Let us grow old together. l will do whatever you need me to do to make that happen._

_*_

_Gods, growing up I prayed to you for my future husband, a noble knight or honorable king, loyal and true. I’d pray to marry for love. Before taking back Winterfell with Jon, everything I endured tried destroying the desires of my heart by showing me, time after time, that such a man doesn’t exist.Yet here I am, about to marry the man of my dreams. He’s exceeded beyond than anything I could ask for, or imagine. Please Gods, keep him safe so that our children can know how truly remarkable a man he is. Let him live to watch his grandbabes grow up._

_*_

_Gods, with the way the Little Crow and his cousin have been eye fucking each other since Castle Black, its about time these two southern fools get together. Jon didn’t steal her in the freefolk tradition like I told him to, but he did well enough for a kneeler. I see the way the Big Woman looks at the one handed southern twat. I can tell they’re fucking, but Gods make her look at me that way too. If we don’t die in the South, I’ll wait as long as it takes to win her over so we can make giant babies one day. That’s the only thing I want._

_*_

_Old Gods, we didn’t really pray to you at Casterly Rock, mostly to the New Gods, but if you’re real, I don't want much. I pray that Pod tells me what he did to those girls. I pray that I live long enough to drink my first bottle of the Imp’s Delight. I pray that one day I’ll stop loving Daenerys; I don’t want to become another Jorah Mormont. I pray that I don’t survive this war, only for Cersei to kill me. Forgive me for killing Father. I know he wanted to kill me first, but still, he was my father. I know kinslayers are cursed and don’t deserve happiness but I pray if Tysha is still alive, let me find her…I’ll never stop looking._

_*_

_Gods, you gave me the gift of being the Three Eyed Raven. Truthfully, if I had known what that meant I’m not sure I would have gone beyond the Wall. I only wanted to survive. It’s terrifying to live with the knowledge of everything that ever existed, while feeling like the real you is dead, with nothing left for you but to eventually find yourself half old man, half tree. I want more. Please help me find_ me _again. I want to feel like Brandon Stark again. If you permit that, I’ll pass on this gift to one of my children, or someone else of your choosing. Thank you._

_*_

When he rises, Jon removes her Stark cloak and wraps his Stark and Targaryen cloak around her shoulders. Holding his hand out to her, she stands up and together they face the smiles, whistles and applause of their group. Daenerys nods at them imperceptibly, her face stony and vacant. They notice her reaction and face each other, smiling with the knowledge they couldn’t care less.

***

 

Reluctant to hold an ostentatious banquet after the ceremony, the newlyweds relent, agreeing to a modest feast for the smallfolk, soldiers and lords still left in Winterfell. The first wave had departed, with the rest set to leave in two days. Time is moving maddeningly slow for Jon and Sansa, each thinking of ways they could leave discreetly…well, discreetly enough, as well as early, but not too early, lest their zeal be plain for all to see. 

“There will be NO bedding ceremony!!” Jon bellows furiously, enraged that some useless bannerman even hints at the old tradition as he walks up to congratulate them.

Sansa hears groans from the men travel from way back of the Great Hall to their table. Jon can feel the resentful looks and disappointed faces of the women glaring up at him. 

Slowly, the music and dancing starts back up again and the room begins to return to its festivities. Before they leave, Bran catches Sansa’s hand, gesturing her to lean in. He whispers, “When I came back to Winterfell, I told you looked beautiful the night of your wedding. The wedding I saw that day was this one, the one yet to come. I saw the look on your face after I said that, so I wanted to be clear with you that this wedding was always meant to happen. And you do, you look beautiful.”

Her voice catches in her throat as she hugs him. “Thank you Bran, truly. This is a gift I’ll never forget.”

 

***

 

Jon opens the door to their chambers nice and wide. They share a grin when he gathers her in his arms, carrying her across the threshold as she slams the door behind them.Setting her down, he notices some chambermaid brought his belongings into her rooms. _Well,_ their _rooms now… They belong to each other for all to see, both men and in the sight of the Gods._

The urge make any sort of physical contact with her overwhelms him. He cups her cheek in his hand, heart melting as she blooms under his touch. She peers into his eyes with a teasing smile, “My love, I’ve been such a good girl, _your_ good girl, and I deserve my reward.”

His eyes drift down to her centre, licking his lips in anticipation. 

She laughs, “No…well yes that too, but there’s something different I wish to try with you…”

“Oh?” His curiosity is piqued. He starts unlacing his jerkin, desperate to get his damned clothes off.

The sharp, steely resolve in her voice snaps him out of his lusty haze.

“Stop undressing. I’m taking charge tonight.” Drawing closer, her voice grows low and firm with every syllable. “You’ve awakened in me all manner of craven thoughts and ideas, and so tonight my love, this is the one I’m exploring. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”

He gapes at her, nonplussed, “Is that true?”

Eyebrow raised, she teases him, “I played your game for _days_ , followed the rules, won my prize, and now I’m done being your good girl. _For tonight, anyway._ Your naughty girl is here, and ready to claim my prize in all ways I see fit.”

Before he can think, he presses his mouth to hers in a sloppy kiss, “Oh Sansa, lovely wife, you are the rarest treasure… You don’t know what this means to me.” He admits sheepishly, “When I was alone in Castle Black before, well, even after you came, I’d pleasured myself, dreaming of you taking charge and commanding me. My mouth would water at the mere thought of giving you the Lord’s Kiss…” 

He starts to reach out for her before she slaps his hand away. “I’m going to stop you there. You will finish what you were saying, but first…Take off your clothes. You are my bed slave tonight and I’ll not hear or see any disobedience lest you be punished in a way that suits me.”

He feels himself grinning like an idiot, trying to control himself. He is already painfully hard.“Yes my Queen.”

“I won’t remind you again: take off your clothes. _Slowly._ Eyes on me when you do it. When you are done, you may undress me then finish telling me what you thought of when you’d pleasure yourself. Same way, _slowly._ ”

Jon’s mind races as he processes her words. _There is nothing in the world I won’t give you Sansa. If you want the moon, I’ll ask you where to hang it. If you want to take charge, my lady wife, I will be better than the very best of the Lysene pleasure houses. If you want a display, I will put on a fucking spectacle. It’s what you deserve._

His hungry eyes drink her in, trailing over every inch as he finishes unlacing his tunic, letting it drop to the floor without a second glance. He lets his gaze linger on her lips while wetting his own before he peels off his undershirt. Bare chested, Jon cards his fingers through his curls, watching her eyes linger on his muscled arms before trailing down his stomach to his confined length. Closing the distance between them, his eyes bore into hers while unlacing his breeches. She lets out a rough exhale as Jon walks back to the chair in the corner, facing it so he can remove his boots and give Sansa a view of his firm arse through his breeches. One boot falls, as does the next before he faces her. When his eyes finally meet hers once more, he feels them, heated and wanting, her mouth open slightly as her breathing becomes ragged. He holds her gaze as he peels off his breeches, releasing his hardness. The way she licks her lips at his aching, turgid cock threatens to end him. 

She holds out her arms to indicate she wants her stole off. He carefully places it on a chair, resuming his untying of her steel Weirwood bodice and dress before he clears his throat to speak, whispering into her ear as he unfastens her dress.

“My Queen, I used to pleasure myself thinking about all the ways you’d take charge over me. I would imagine you using cloth ties to restrain me to the bed as punishment for disobeying you. You would sit on my cock and ride me hard, using me for your pleasure,” he whispers, his voice gruff with desire, “I wouldn’t be allowed to touch you and it would drive me mad. I would be your stud horse, you teasing me over and over again into hardness but no matter how many times you peaked or how much I begged, you wouldn't let me touch you.”

He takes her hand so she could step out of the dress pooled at her feet. Gathering it up, he places it gently with the stole. Her nipples are hard underneath her nightrail and her chest heaves in rough exhale. He kneels at her feet, looking up, “My Queen, may I kiss your delicious body while I remove your shift?”

She nods wordlessly, consumed in her own lust at how earnestly he seeks to submit to her every instruction. As much as it excites her, she wants him to take her fast and rough, but not before she finishes her little game…

Jon kisses her, tongue teasing against hers while he drops her shift to the floor. Looking down, he growls at her lack of smallclothes underneath her wedding dress. _Had she forgone smallclothes at the ceremony?_ His cock twitches impatiently at the thought before she interrupts his fantasizing.

“My love, before I allow your massive cock inside me, I wish you to pleasure me with your mouth and fingers and bring me to peak thrice before you enter. You are _not_ allowed to touch yourself, find relief or spill before my third peak. If you do, I’ll punish you. After my third peak, you will take me like a wolf. And you will _not_ be gentle, do you understand?”

“Yes my Queen, my _only_ Queen, I won’t fail you.”

Grabbing her legs, Jon hoists her on his shoulder, carrying her to their solar. He sets her down on the table, pulling up a chair for him to sit and spread her legs before him.

_Yes._ She sprawls out on the table, hands folded under her heads, basking the euphoria of his mouth on her folds. _After what feels like eternity, I’m taking my peak. Gods I hope Jon puts a babe in me tonight, if he hasn’t yet already. I swear I peak even harder when he cums inside me. As much as I love being his good girl, taking charge feels amazing. There’s so much I wa—_ “Oh, Jon!!”

His fingers curl against the front of her walls and she moans, bucking against his hands. He growls low in his throat, “Your Grace, this cunt is the only feast I need.” He dives in once more, taking her folds in his mouth, sucking on them while he thumbs her bud. 

Her peak is building rapidly, bringing with it days worth of frustration. She feels fresh slickness trickling down before he laps it up hungrily. He peeks up at her, watching her watching him, “So sweet, like candied plums… headier than Dornish wine…mmm softer than the ripest peaches.”He takes her tender bud in between his lips, putting light pressure with his teeth, as he works his fingers up and inside her, drawing out her moans. 

She’s so close, so close to peaking. The force behind it threatens to destroy her. He moans against her thighs, catching his breath, the ghost of his touch heightening the sensation of his breath against her thighs. “I would sup on your sweet nectar all night if I could.”

He feels her walls fluttering around his fingers, her whole body is trembling uncontrollably. _She’s close._ “You make such gorgeous sounds my Queen, everyone should hear them, let go, let it all out…” Jon plunges into her succulent folds once more, feeling her thighs squeeze around his head, devouring her relentlessly into oblivion.

_They are finally wed, there is no reason to hold back any longer._ A wail rips from her mouth, too forceful to contain, as she feels herself gushing from her release. Stars sparkle behind her closed eyes, a torrent of slickness drenching Jon’s beard as he gulps her down, easing her into a ripple of afterwaves with gentle, patient licks. She lays boneless and satiated on the table before she realizes he’s been calling her.

“Sansa, sweetling, can you hear me?” His voice sounds distant, slightly muffled, as she realizes her release affected her hearing. That’s never happened before…

She smiles, feeling herself drift back down to reality, “Yes, my love. That was incredible.” He sighs, looking relieved. She stretches out her limbs in satisfaction, chirping with surprise when Jon seizes her by her waist, legs wrapped around his, to carry her back into their bedchambers.

“My Queen, if you’ll allow it, I wish to give you your next peak in a different way than we’ve tried before. While you hold onto the bed’s frame for support, I would lay down so you could lower that delicious honeypot of yours onto my mouth. Is that something you would like to try, Your Grace?” 

Picturing it in her mind’s eye sends a delectable frisson down her body.Attempting to maintain her air of cool authority, she gestures with stately resign, “Very well then, proceed.”

Grinning at her commitment to their game, he sits with her, motioning her to scoot above his chest so she could grasp the solid wooden headboard. She usually prefers to watch, his enthusiasm for giving her the Lord’s Kiss sending her to release faster than she expects. However, the second Sansa lowers herself onto his lips, she realizes this is something very special indeed. 

Closing her eyes to focus on pure sensation, she feels Jon becoming increasingly amorous, drunk off her slickness, humming and swiping his tongue through her folds, as if he’s kissing her mouth, pulling them between his lips to suckle softly. Having had little time to come down from the previous one, she’s surprised to discover her next peak is imminent. 

He’s pleased with himself for keeping her in a state of perpetual arousal, even after her peak, to the point where he has Sansa writhing above him, needy for her release. Seeking her bud, his teeth graze it gently as she gasps, “Oh Jon! More, more!” He obliges, humming low in throat. She grasps the headboard, clinging for dear life as the vibration of his noises and teeth on her bud rips another scream from her, careening her over the edge into ecstasy. 

Where her previous release left her breathless and boneless, this one energizes her into action. She lowers herself over Jon, seizing his lips with hers fervently, tasting herself on him. It sends a familiar warmth down to her cunt. She grins against his lips at her wantoness. _Sansa, you are insatiable!_ Trailing kisses down his cheeks and beard, she stops at his neck. Plunging into it’s inviting warmth, she sucks deep crimson love bites on both sides of his neck. Jon groans, starting to sob in desperation, 

“Mercy, my Queen! If you continue doing that, I’ll spill. I’m so close already… I still need to fulfill your wishes, have mercy.” 

She regards him, wickedly tickled as she replies, “Say please.”

“PLEASE, Your Grace.” His eyes plead with her entreatingly. She is indeed driving him near insanity. _Perfect._

She rolls her eyes, “I suppose I’ll allow it just this one time, my love. Right then, where were we?”

A depraved satisfaction creeps over her. As much as she loves how he takes command over her, loves being lorded over, the delights of seeing her frantic and submissive husband this way are too numerous to limit this experience to only once. _They’ll have to return to this game soon enough…_

He flips them over, pulling her legs over his shoulders and around his head, ravaging her folds, unhinged, impetuous. A moan catches in her throat when she notices his piercing eyes fixed on hers. They hold eye contact, hers lust hazed meeting his, wild and ravenous, while he uses his mouth and teeth on her, curling two, the three fingers inside her. In the end, it was their sustained eye contact that draws out her release as she cries out in exhilaration, her moans low in her throat. 

Sansa lays on their bed, basking in an afterglow nigh on two minutes before Jon growls at her, “Get on your hands and knees…My Queen.”

He brushes aside her hair on her back, letting it swing freely while he trails love bites from her throat, down her back, eyes fixed on hers as they watch their coupling from the mirror in the corner.

She feels rather than sees his tip entering her taut walls, sliding in slowly, feeling inch after inch of his length and the weight of his cock, heavy inside her, gasping at the fullness when he sheathes himself to the hilt. He is deeper than he’s ever been, hot and _inconceivably_ deep inside her. She adjusts her position. No matter how many times he’s fucked her, the sheer length and girth of him takes some getting used to every time. Swerving her hips in circles to adjust to the feel of his cock inside her, she nods, signaling her readiness.

His chest rubs along the expanse of her back when he drapes over her, thrusting languidly as he moans into her ear, “You feel _glorious_.” She preens under his words, feeling herself growing wetter with every stroke.

Her hand snakes down to the place on her stomach that is pushed up and bulging from his cock sheathed inside her. She presses up and moans, feeling impossibly fuller. He covers her hand with his, pace quickening, as he holds her waist with the other. She bucks back into him with every thrust, needy and restless once more. He could feel her slickness growing between them, walls fluttering around his girth, signaling to him that her release is fast approaching.

Sansa is caught in a dense fog of lust when her debauched mind plants such a filthy idea that she doesn’t think of twice before speaking it aloud, “My love? My Lord Commander?”

The steady rhythm of his thrusts in her warmth has him radiating blissful relief. “Mmmm yes, My Queen?”

“I know I just arrived here at Castle Black, but I think we should keep our love a secret. What would everyone think of the Lord Commander fucking his redheaded sister? Bringing her to peak, her wails echoing night after night in a castle full of men? What would they think if you put a babe in me?”

“Seven hells!” His hips stutter at her words, driving him faster until he’s ramming into her, moving his hand down her aching bud, circling it in time with his thrusts. 

She hears the bed scraping against the stone floors with the force of his movements and continues, delighted, “I ran out of moon tea last night Jon. Please whatever you do, don’t fill me up with your cum! Then the whole Night’s Watch would _know_ the Lord Commander got me with child! You’re already so deep inside me that if you don’t stop now you could put a babe in me! You’re fucking me when I’m at most fertile and cumming inside me is so dangerous right now…”

“SANSA!” Jon groans her name in a strangled cry, gripping her tight to unleash himself inside her. His release seems to go on forever, hot, thick ropes of his cum cling to her walls, coating her in a dense layer of his seed. His fingers on her bud, the sensation his seed gushing on the entrance of her womb and the sensation of being filled to overflowing with his cum sends her over the edge as she cries out his name, cunt milking him of every last drop he has to offer as his orgasm tapers off.

He starts to pull out until she grabs his arse, “No. Not yet, my love.”

He smiles, “Alright then sweet girl, allow me to readjust us so we can lie together. I promise I’ll stay inside you.” 

It took some maneuvering; ultimately, they were successful. He was hesitant to lay on her for too long, not wanting to crush her but she insists, explaining she loves the weight of him above her, it makes her feel safe. When he finally pulls out, he quickly grabs a pillow to tuck underneath her hips; nevertheless, his cum streams out from inside her so he pushes it back in with his thumb, admiring the evidence of their lovemaking. She smiles at the gesture, more so when he offers her said thumb to lick clean. _So very true to his word, no matter how depraved…_

After a beat, he asks her, “How did it feel to take charge, sweet girl?”

Her luminous smile tells him everything he needs to know. 

“I should like to take charge more often, it suits me,” she says running her fingers through his silky curls.

He thrives under her touch, “Aye it does, and you will… Gods I love you Sansa.”

She yawns, stretching out her limbs in satisfaction, “I love you too, Jon. Oh and Jon?” 

“Mmm yes, my love?” He starts to nod off, drained and sated beyond action.

“Let’s try that fantasy of yours without the cloth ties first. I want to know what it feels like before we start adding ideas.”

He groans, cock twitching in a gallant attempt to awaken, “Sweet girl, we’ll do exactly that before sunrise. But before another round, some rest. My saucy minx of a Lady Wife has wrung me out. I need to regain my strength to service my insatiable Queen…”

She giggles, curling up to her Lord Husband, “Very well Lord Commander, let us rest a while so you can fulfill your vow, for this night and all your nights to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obtw, I’m on Tumblr if you’d like to send me any questions, mail, prompts or submissions! I’m very much committed to finishing TNR, aiming to post weekly. As a first time fanfic writer, I’m learning that with long fics, side projects like one shots helps the writing stay fresh and inspired. Unlike D&D, I’m not willing to sacrifice plot or character development for the sake of a timeline or finishing just to finish. I love these characters too much to do them dirty!!! So send me your ideas, anything you’d like to see written: Modern AU, daddy kink, Historical AU, fluff, TV/Movie AU, Canon Divergence etc etc at https://www.tumblr.com/search/wolfqueenkissedbyfire


	7. What Is Dead May Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stark family feels and checking in on the Greyjoys!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we’ve strayed from showverse, I’ll be applying bookverse details heading towards the end. For example, Euron Greyjoy here is styled on bookverse rather than the Hot Topic Jack Sparrowness of his showverse doppelganger. Enjoy!

 

Sam, Gendry, Davos, Tormund and the last of the lords and ladies staying at Winterfell gather in the Great Hall at Maester Wolkan’s behest. House Stark occupies the head table as the rest sit facing them. With the soldiers and smallfolk making final arrangements before departure, it’s a small group. The sounds of loading wagons, smiths forging weapons and animals being herded up outside fill the room as the good Maester holds up a few scrolls in his hand, clearing this throat.

“Ravens arrived from the Eyrie, Twins and Riverrun. The women and children north of the God’s Eye, from Rushing Falls to Stone Mill, evacuated all villages and are now heading to safety in the castles hosting them in the Westerlands and Vale. Captain Strickland and the riders of the Golden Company reached the Twins and are sailing with the first wave of men from the Riverlands towards Riverrun. The rest of the Golden Company are set to arrive within the week, and will sail with the remaining men of the Riverlands. The men of the Westerlands are expected to arrive at Riverrun in a few day’s time. From there, they will be begin collecting firewood for our defenses. Lord Arryn, Prince Quentyn and the High Priest of the Fiery Hand are all to be hosted at Riverrun once they arrive. The Dornish and Fiery Hand make camp south of Blackwater Rush. Uh, Lord Jon will now share our plan and the rest of the information we received.”

Jon smirks at the title, still unaccustomed to being referred to as highborn. Nodding in his direction he begins, 

“Thank you, Maester Wolkan. The Vale, Riverlands, North, Westerlands, Daenerys’s armies as well as the Hill Tribes Tyrion will recruit are to defend the boundaries of the Red Fork and Green Fork. The Reach, Stormlands, Dorne, Fiery Hand and Golden Company are holding ground from Blackwater Rush to the mountains. We are building barriers from Stony Sept to Mummer’s Ford, connecting the riverbanks of the Red Fork and Blackwater with fire. Our strategy will be much like the first battle: use every advantage we have to sustain defensive operations before making any offensive strikes. We have everything to lose, while they have everything to gain. We will _not_ risk any more lives then is absolutely necessary. That being said, we will need areas of high ground to support air assaults and ground maneuvers. Harrenhal, Acorn Hall and High Heart will be our strongholds within the battleground. Once the war council is gathered at Riverrun, we’ll decide who to send where.”

The room murmurs and nods in agreement. It is only the broad strokes of the plan but it seems to be received well enough. He isn’t looking forward to sharing this last bit of news, but speaks confidently anyway, knowing they can overcome this unexpected obstacle.

“We’ve also received word from Torrhen’s Square. There’s been sightings of ice spiders traveling south. Bran warged ravens to locate them; they appear to be heading towards The Neck. From what he’s seen, they’re active only at night, avoiding villages and preferring to pass through the mountains. This leads us to believe the Night King is summoning them. Bran’s sent word to Greywater Watch to see if House Reed and their bannermen can kill or delay them until the evacuated women and children are safely behind castle walls. Bran, is there anything else you need to add?” 

Arya stood up, “I have something to say.”

She faces the crowd, purposely avoiding Jon’s protective glare and Sansa’s quizzical expression.

“If there are ice spiders, we’ll need more than humans to kill them. I saw Nymeria again on the way to Winterfell. I know she recognized me; otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. She’s the leader of a massive pack of wolves in the Riverlands. I know it sounds odd but I asked her to come home to Winterfell. I believe she understood me. She refused but let me pass on through anyhow. I can look for her. If its possible to bring her pack to the fight I’ll do my damnedest to try.”

“No.” Jon shook his head immediately, “What if Nymeria isn’t in the Riverlands anymore? You can’t go alone. Who knows what else is out there…”

She scoffs at him, “I’m not going alone.”

He frowns, “Then with who?”

“Me.” Heads turn to Gendry, “Where milady goes, I go.”

Rolling her eyes at Gendry, she looks to Jon. “Aye. What he said.”

Jon’s eyes flickered back and forth between Arya and Gendry, the realization dawning him suddenly. He glances at Sansa, who offers him a subtle nod of encouragement.

He sighs in resignation. “Fine. I’ll need a word with him in private before you leave. Return as quickly as you can. Bran says we must see a woods witch who lives at High Heart before the battle begins.”

Her eyes brighten in recognition as she casually mentions, “Oh I’ve met her.”

The whole room turns at this, joining Jon’s bewildered face, “Aye?”

“With the Brotherhood. Bring our best singer. She’ll want a song as payment.”

Sansa ruminates on her words, speaking slowly, “I believe Brienne’s mentioned Podrick can carry a tune or two. We’ll ask him along as well.”

All eyes return to Jon when Sansa focuses to him. “I think that’s all for now. Everyone must be packed and ready before heading to bed. We leave at daybreak. The meeting’s adjourned. I have a few more private things to discuss with the Lady of Winterfell before we leave the Hall. If there are any urgent questions within the next hour, speak with Maester Wolkan.”

The room empties quickly as Arya lags behind, the last to leave the Great Hall. She strolls out, but not before pausing to grin at them.

“Oy when you two are done fucking, we’ll be drinking and swapping stories in the library if you’re not too tired to make it! Sansa, you’re a bit too loud if you didn’t already know. If you didn’t, well now you do! Cheers!”

Jon bars the door behind her and faces Sansa. They burst into laughter as he walks back to the head table.

Sansa is breathless with anticipation, biting her lip. _Mayhaps forgoing smallclothes wasn’t the best idea._ She could feel Jon’s seed slowly trickle out of her throughout the meeting, dripping down her shift. The sensation had her thinking depraved thoughts, slickness collecting between her thighs. They made love all day yesterday, venturing out of their bedchambers only to eat, bathe or fuck in their solar. Both had cleared their day in advance; although, from the sounds emanating from their rooms, the whole castle knew not to bother them lest they wanted an earful and a black eye from Brienne or Arya. No matter how blissfully sated she feels from their day long romp, she craves him still. _I can’t imagine ever tiring of this…_

He whispers in her ear heatedly, pulling out her chair behind her as a delicious shiver travels down her spine. “I told you I’d make this happen, sweet girl. Now how did your fantasy go exactly? Leave no detail out…”

***

Some time later, they open the door of the library to the sound of cheers. Arya, Gendry and Bran are gathered around the fireplace, ales in hand. Gendry jumps up to pull forward some chairs as Jon and Sansa settle in, Ghost wags his tail in greeting to their pets before circling back into a ball of fluff curled at Arya’s feet. Gendry offers them mugs before returning to his seat.

Arya smirks at their flushed faces. “Took you long enough. We’re telling tales. Bran just told the one about Father tanning his hide the first time he climbed the Broken Tower. Before that I told the one about Rickon trying to ride Shaggydog. Any stories about Robb or Rickon?”

Jon chuckles, a story coming to him immediately.

“Robb and I had the best times. Cheeky little devils, Old Nan used to call us. This one is easily my favorite. Once, we built a great mountain of snow above a gate. Mance Rayder was still a brother of the Night’s Watch when he came here with his Lord Commander. Mance knew what we were doing, but promised not to tell on us. We waited and waited until the guard back then, Fat Tom, walked past us before we dumped the whole lot of snow on him until he was covered. We howled with laughter until Tom started chasing after us. Robb and I used to bring it up all the time.”

They burst into laughs together, realizing how long it’s been since they all shared a moment together and how badly they needed this. Before their thoughts stray towards melancholy, Jon stands up, his mug held high. “To Robb!”

Clinking their cups they toast, “To Robb!” 

Jon notices how Arya smiles at Gendry, squeezing his hand to preface her story. “Robb hated Joffrey so much. So did I but Robb truly despised him. There was one time he and Joffrey were sparring with wooden swords. Of course Joffrey, being the insufferable arse that he was, challenges Robb to spar with actual steel. What an idiot. Thank the Gods Ser Rodrik knew what he was dealing with and forbade it. That didn’t stop Joffrey tackling Robb from behind. Before Joffrey knows it, Robb flips him over his head, knocking the wind out him as he starts to cry. The other Lannisters looked so embarrassed at their prince crying that I couldn’t stop laughing until Mother pulled me by the ear to my rooms…”

In the midst of the chuckles, giggles and sniggering, it warms Arya’s heart to see Bran’s eyes water from laughing so hard. “To Robb!”

“To Robb!” 

Sansa sighs, reminiscing. “Rickon was so playful and so very stubborn when he had his mind made up. I loved the way he laughed, this joyful little giggle. It sounded like music.” She turns to Jon, “He looked up to you and Robb so much, he wanted to do everything exactly like the both of you.”

Jon gazes into the fire, amused, “He would beg me for sweets. I’d sneak him some any chance I got. No one ever knew….To Rickon!”

“To Rickon!”

Sansa pauses, gently placing her hand on Jon’s, “I feel sad for Mother. She’ll never know Father was always faithful to her. She would’ve treated you better had she known it Jon, I believe that.”

He looks at them all warmly, “It doesn’t matter now. I’m not sorry it happened the way it did. I’ll always be grateful that Father, I mean Uncle Ned, kept it a secret. Who knows if I’d even be alive right now if he had told even one person. He was right to keep it secret.”

After a beat, Gendry breaks the silence, “I only knew Ned Stark from the few times he’d visit the shop, but I always got the sense that he loved his family deeply and would do everything he could to keep you all safe. I’m glad I met him because I see him so clearly in all of you. To Ned Stark!”

“To Father!” 

He stands to grab the pitcher, peering inside. “So it looks like we’re out of ale, I’ll go get us another.”

Jon jumps up, “I’ll go with you!”

Arya smirks at Gendry, as both men start to leave. “Careful, don’t get lost!”

With the door closed behind them, Jon claps him on the shoulder, “You seem like good lad from the few times we’ve been in each other’s company. Arya seems to like you. So I’ll give you a fair warning. You know if you ever hurt her, I’d kill you right?”

Gendry grins, sucking in his breath through his teeth, “I hate to break it you, but you’d have to get in line because she’d kill me first, guaranteed. It’s one of the many things I love about her.”

Jon chuckles, mollified by his reaction, “At least you know what you’re in for… Now let’s go fill this pitcher quickly. I want to hear Arya tell the story of Littlefinger’s surprise execution.”

***

The sea is restless, Yara notices, as the Silence undulates with every jostle of the waves underneath.She is alone tonight, her uncle leaving to “fuck himself into a cunt or two,” as he so eloquently described to her. As much as she hates every word that spews from his mouth, he is the only person onboard who can speak. Every ship is manned by mutes, Euron having removed everyone’s tongues. The lack of conversation, or noise for that matter, threatens to send her into madness.

A small thump breaks past her wandering thoughts. Before, she wouldn’t have noticed something so insignificant. Now…it stands out in an explosion of sound. Her eyes flash towards the noise, summoning her bravery for whatever is behind the door. The door creaks open slowly, long fingers curling against the wood when she sighs in relief.

Theon takes one look around before making his way over to Yara, loosening her restraints. He whispers, “Where is he? How long has he been gone?”

“He went ashore to fuck someone. He’s been gone a few hours.”

“Good. The sooner he comes back the better. Now let’s get you out of here! There’s a boat waiting for you. I need to find a place where he won’t see him coming for him.” He starts for the door before she grabs his arm, 

“I won’t leave you here Theon. He’ll kill you!”

He frowns at her. “Then help me kill him.”

“How?” The shock on her face is obvious.

He leans in to whisper his plans. When he finishes, she looks into his eyes. It makes her want to cry. _Reek is gone, well and truly. Theon is here. Not that whinging prat, but a tough unyielding man with Greyjoy steel in his eyes. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger._

“Aye. I will.” 

***

Euron Greyjoy gallivants back onto the Silence, scratching underneath his eyepatch. As much as Pyke is his home, now _his_ castle by right, he prefers to sleep on his ship. Being at sea for so long ruined him for a bed on land. As soon as he climbs aboard the scarlet deck, he knows something is wrong. At first, he blames it on the shade of the evening. _This batch is especially potent._ The moonless night casts strange shadows around him. He squints, looking for his crew, his blue stained lips curling in suspicion. 

“Hello Uncle.” Yara walks to the middle of the ship, wearing his Valyrian steel armor. “What is dead may never die.”

_The fucking nerve of this bitch._ He sneers at her, “Why the fuck are you out here? Where is everyone? I’ll kill the men on watch tonight but first, you’ll watch as I flay them alive.”

She raises an eyebrow at him triumphantly, “How can you kill them all when they’re already dead?”

He sidles up to her, his voice growing more sinister with each step. “Those warlocks were useful!! Do you how hard it is to find some halfway decent shade of the evening? You bloody cunt, you’ll pay the iron price for that. ” 

She stares him down, standing her ground, “I doubt it, Uncle. Huh, wait… what _IS_ that?”

He squints up towards where she’s looking, hearing a strum in the air before he screams in pain, clutching his eye as he crumples to the floor, gurgling blood with his last choked breath. Yara nods in confirmation at Theon, bow in his hand. Scaling down the masts, he springs to meet her.

Theon puffs up his chest proudly, “Father always said us Greyjoys are known for our skills in archery, navigation and lovemaking.”

She laughs freely for the first time in ages. “And _that_ is the fucking truth if I’ve ever heard it. Let’s take this corpse ashore to let all of the Iron Islands know we paid the iron price for salt throne.” 

He grins, adding, “Then tomorrow, we send a raven to Winterfell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s a wrap on Act One! There’s a bit more exposition and less action in this chapter, while setting up for the second and third acts. Being that their whole stay in Winterfell up to this point has been about the Night King, it’s about time the Starks enjoy Winterfell and remember growing up together with Robb and Rickon before heading south. Next chapter we find House Stark in The Neck! Thanks for reading :)


	8. Hearth, Heart, and Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks spend time at Greywater Watch aka Howland's Moving Castle...

Sansa and Jon had reservations about Bran coming to Riverrun with them, tradition insisting must always be a Stark in Winterfell. With the Night King’s mark on him, it is a sound choice for him to remain in the North. Bran had other ideas, sounding more and more like his younger self as of late, with some significant differences. Where before there was a childish stubbornness, there is now Stark perseverance. Brandon’s youthful recklessness was now replaced with a fierce Tully outspokenness.

He insisted, “Jon, you need me there. The Night King always knows where I am. It will be suspicious to him if I _don’t_ go. I know him the way Sansa knows Cersei. We need to trust each other, so trust me when I say take me with you. I cannot reveal anymore than that right now. Select a few people loyal to you that will hold the castle until we return. All will be well.”

Hearing Bran’s words echo his own, Jon relented, entrusting Sam, Gilly, and Ser Davos to hold Winterfell. He charged Sam and Maester Wolkan to run castle operations together, sending ravens to Riverrun for any information that could prove useful. Davos swore to ensure regular shipments of dragonglass weaponry, while Gilly assured Sansa she’d oversee the wellbeing of the women and children remaining in the castle. A small contingent of free folk chose to stay behind and defend the castle. Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Jon brought it up, revealing that Gilly is with child and he was dreading putting her life at risk. 

Jon and Sansa hugged them both goodbye with tears in their eyes, promising them a trinket for their babe upon their return. Ghost leapt into their arms, licking their faces. Jon looked into the beast’s red eyes earnestly, scratching behind his ears while instructing him to watch over their friends. Sansa kissed his snout, offering him the biggest bone she could find in the kitchens. He accepted his gift eagerly, trotting off to the gate to watch them leave while gnawing on his favorite treat.

Despite their initial doubts, all worries vanish when they see Bran burst into a full smile, whooping with joy as he rides past them at a full gallop. Adapted from Tyrion’s earlier model, Bran is secured with similar restraints, his saddle designed to absorb the impact of fast speeds should he need to ride for long distances. They catch up with him, as does Arya and Gendry, relishing the speed of their ride after being ship confined, sharing in his elation.

They spot a welcoming party of twenty in the distance, waving banners of a black lizard-lion on a grey green background that could only be House Reed. A single rider breaks ahead of the party. Bran squints in the distance before recognizing the familiar face as she stops in front of them.

“Meera!,” He smiles breathlessly.

Her eyes gleam with warmth. “Hello Bran, you look well.”

“As do you, really well. Being home agrees with you.”

“You mean not living off moss and escaping dead things agrees with me.”

They share a laugh before Bran remembers his family.

“I’m glad you came to meet us. Forgive my manners. You’ve met Sansa. This is her husband: my cousin Jon, my sister Arya, and her betrothed Gendry. Everyone, this is Meera of House Reed.”

She smiles at them, “A pleasure to meet all of you, and to see you again Lady Sansa. It’s unfortunate to meet under these circumstances, but House Stark is always welcome in the Neck.” 

Before Sansa can open her mouth, Arya speaks up first, “The pleasure is ours. We grew up on the loads of stories Father would tell about his and your father’s adventures. I’ve always been curious about Greywater Watch and as much as I’d like to see it myself, Gendry and I are heading to the Riverlands. Will you be at Riverrun? Mayhaps we can get better acquainted there?”

In the span of a couple minutes, Meera already knows they’ll soon be thick as thieves. “I would like that very much. Aye, I’ll be there. Safe travels until we meet again!” She turns to Jon and Sansa, “Father says we’re hosting you Starks while the rest of your group travel onward to the Twins. He’s back at Greywater Watch. It’s nearby, we’ll talk on the way.”

With that, the Starks hug and say their goodbyes to Arya and Gendry. Sansa runs through of a list of all the provisions she’d included in their packs, to which Arya simply says, “I love you too.”Jon regards Gendry with a stern look, telling him loud enough for a _certain_ someone to hear, “Don’t let her boss you around. She’s good at that.” 

She pokes Jon in the side, answering him while looking at Gendry, “I started bossing him around long before he even came to Winterfell, why stop now?”

Gendry smiles at Jon, “Not sure what we got ourselves into with these Stark girls but I’ll say one thing: life will _never_ be dull again.”

Jon winks at Gendry, “Aye, it won’t… They’ll make sure of it.”

Sansa pretends to be exasperated, “We can still hear you, you know… If I were you, I wouldn’t start anything I can’t finish, _Jon._ ”

Arya and Gendry look at each other, “Annnd that’s our signal to leave now.” They both turn for one last look before galloping off into the distance.

After ensuring all wagons were secured and the remaining Northerners are prepared for the journey down the Kingsroad, Sansa, Jon, and Bran ride for Greywater Watch.

 

***

Time seems to stand still within the Neck, the emerald waters swirl around their boat in an intricate path, not dissimilar to the curling wisps of a newly extinguished flame. The noonday sun above filters through the marsh in a temperate dance of shadows, sunbeams and mist. A bend in the waterway reveals Greywater Watch, before they realize the castle is moving to meet them halfway.

It is taller, vaster than Jon expects. Every window glows with light, from the highest tower to the ground floors. A gathering of modest crannogs trail behind, as the Starks step onto the grounds of the castle, surprised at the feel of solid earth underneath their feet. The crannogmen unload Bran’s chair. Jon makes his way to carry Bran out of the boat when the booming voice of stops him,

“Allow me, my Lord.” An older man, strong and jovial with rosy cheeks, gathers Bran from the boat and lowers him onto his seat. 

Meera pauses her task to introduce them, shoulders squared proudly, “Starks, this is my father, Howland of House Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch.”

“Come now Meera, no need for titles here. We’re a humble house with great respect for the Old Gods of the North, nothing more. House Stark is always welcome here. Come in, come in!” 

He leads them to a reception hall where the sworn houses of the Neck have gathered to receive their guests. After Howland seats them at the head table, he stretches out his arm to his fellow crannogmen. “House Stark, I have the pleasure to introduce to you the Lords and Ladies of Houses Blackmyre, Boggs, Cray, Fenn, Greengood, Peat and Quagg.” 

Lord Reed holds out his glass as he declares boldly, “To House Stark we pledge the faith of Greywater. Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you!”

His sworn houses join with gusto, raising their pronged tridents in the air, “We swear it by earth and water! We swear it by bronze and iron! We swear it by ice and fire!”

Jon stands up, raising a toast to them, “We are honored by your allegiance in the wars to come. We will fight side by side as my uncle Ned Stark fought beside Lord Reed so long ago. No matter the odds or the differences we share, we stand together, the living against the Night King, to fight for the lives of our children’s children.” 

The roars of the crowd simmer down when Sansa stands with her glass in the air, “Lords and Ladies, many thanks to you for your hospitality during our stay here at Greywater. We look forward to sharing with others of your kindness, your skilled warriors and respect for your home as an example for other kingdoms to follow. The old ways of the North are truly felt here in the Neck. With the blessing of the Gods, Winterfell and Greywater Watch will remain allies today and forever, as they have for hundreds of years.”

Howland smiles at them warmly, “We live closer to the green in our bogs and crannogs, and we remember. The North remembers. Earth and water, soil and stone, oaks and elms and willows, they were here before us all and will still remain when we are gone. Now let us eat, drink and be merry!”

He turns to Bran, “I’ve let the Children know you’ve arrived, they are eager to meet you. They’ll be here tomorrow to discuss the Isle of Faces with you, Bran. You all must be tired from your travels, we shall all retire to our rooms shortly. The castle is heading south as we speak. Tomorrow we can discuss the Night King and our plans to defeat him.”

 

***

 

Meera absentmindedly walks Bran to his chambers, lost in her thoughts. _He seems changed since they last spoke, as if he’s woken up from some prolonged dream state._ Before she leaves his chambers, he grabs her hand to her surprise.

“I’ve been wanting to speak with you, Meera. Writing simply wouldn’t have done justice to what I want to say.”

Meera frowns, “And that is?”

“I’m sorry. For Jojen, for everything. I didn’t realize what it would cost to go beyond the Wall. Escaping that cave with the entire history of the realm pouring into your mind feels like you're drowning in a sea of information, the vibration of their countless voices seeping into your bones, millions of people’s emotions absorbing into your skin, love, hatred, despair, joy, fear, all of it. When you said I died in that cave, I believed it, because I was a shell, a numb vessel filled with millions of memories that aren’t mine. It’s taken me this long to finally start feeling like myself again. If it wasn’t for your words and my family, I wouldn’t be here right now. They pulled me out of hopelessness and thinking I all had left was to become an old man wasting away into a tree. You saved me in so many ways, Meera. Truthfully, I struggle still at times. Knowing when to share or withhold information, when to say it and to whom…it’s a responsibility I cannot take lightly. Could we start over again? Your wise council would be priceless in navigating through this all.” 

“Bran, don’t take all the blame on yourself for going beyond the Wall. Jojen insisted from the beginning. I think he knew I’d refuse to go with him if he told me he was going to his death. You becoming the Three Eyed Raven was only part of the reason I left Winterfell. I missed home and Father deserved to know about Jojen in person. There’s nothing to forgive, I’m happy you found your way back to yourself. My house is sworn to yours so I’m here to help….Is that all you need from me, Bran, my wise council?”

“No, but I daren’t speak the truth until the time is right.”

She could feel her cheeks reddening under his gaze, “Fair enough. I should go back to my chambers.” 

“Get some rest. One last thing Meera?

“Yes?”

His voice caught in his throat, “I am really happy to see you. Truly.”

“Me too, Bran. Me too.

 

***

As much as he loves reminiscing on the scorching heat and clandestine urgency of their first couplings, Jon thoroughly savors the humble domestic bliss of winding down the day with his sweet girl. They settled into a nightly routine after leaving Winterfell, which is where he currently finds himself. His favorite thing besides undressing Sansa is brushing her glossy crimson tresses in front of the mirror, working his fingers in her hair to massage her head, temples, down her neck and shoulders before taking her brush to ease the comb through her long, luscious strands. His mouth waters at the sound of the breathy whimpers of pleasure she mewls and the way her silky eyelashes flutter against her closed eyes.

He wraps her in his arms and carries her to their bed, as she pulls him down with her. Taking her earlobe in his lips, tongue swirling her flesh in his mouth, he whispers, “Sweetling, what are you craving tonight? We were fairly unrestrained last night, do you have need of me or do you wish to rest tonight so you can recover?”

Sansa pulls him over to her mouth, kissing him with every sentence, “My love, I always crave you. Always. I love everything we do yet could we save our more _adventurous_ ideas until we leave? It would feel strange to me to be so uninhibited while we’re here. As for last night, let’s just say every step I took today was a reminder of how deep you were inside me… Make love to me, Jon. I’ll try my best to keep quiet, well, quiet enough.”

He holds her gaze as he trails kisses down her body, “With pleasure, sweet girl.”

Sansa sighs contentedly, stretching out as her limbs awaken with his diligent attentiveness. 

Jon’s fingers tiptoe down between her folds, grinning as he raises an eyebrow at his discovery, “My my my, someone’s been quite the busy bee! Sansa’s honeypot is full of nectar just for me!”

She bursts into laughter, tears streaming down her face as she smacks him with a pillow, “My sweet, beautiful idiot, I _cannot_ handle the things you say sometimes…Did you mean to rhyme? That was fairly ridiculous, admit it!”

_And yet you LOVE it, my Queen._ His eyes are smug when he growls into her folds, “Is that so? Well then naughty girl, let’s see how ridiculous you think it is when you’re begging for my cock inside you eh? I’m not going to enter you until you beg me. Do you understand?”

Sansa nods wordlessly, feeling the heat between her thighs flourish and her slickness surging with his every word. _How does he do this to me?_

He playfully draws his fingers to her nub, teasing her folds with his tongue. M _y love, I’ve mastered your body, every inch of it. Wait and see…_ He flicks his tongue in her, just the way she likes.

“Oh Jon,” She moans, her hands immediately reach for his head, running her hands through his curls. 

Her resumes his torture, drawing out her tension until her limbs start to quiver with every move of his mouth and fingers. He smirks at her mischievously, knowing the more drawn out her release is, the more ready she is for a rapid series of peaks. He knows she’s close, but she seems to fighting it for some reason. _She’s learning quickly, clever girl._

_He cannot know how close I am to my peak, it’s shameful how quickly everything he does gets under my skin._ She feels herself getting restless, jaw clenched on her pillow to stifle her sounds. 

He taunts her in heated whispers, “Shhh filthy girl, I can hear you getting careless. You don’t want anyone to hear how desperate you are to peak, do you? What would our hosts think of the _wanton Lady of Winterfell_?” 

Sansa is beyond words, aroused to the point of pain. Her hips betray her, seeking his touch, his mouth with every move Jon makes.

His own words start affecting him, voice thick with lust, “What would our hosts think if they knew all you could think of _all_ day was to fuck me? A proper Northern lady, noble and trueborn, _begging_ to cum on my cock, frantic to feel my cum inside her?” Reaching up, he rolls her nipple between his fingers, pinching as he sucks her nub between his lips with the same rough force.

It shatters her. She peaks with his name on her lips, a breathless whisper caught in her throat. After having had his fill of her nectar, she drags him up for unabashed kisses, tasting herself as she licks the remaining slickness from his lips and beard. 

He trails his fingers down her body to resume his torment until she seizes his wrist.

Sansa knows he’ll gloat but she’s stopped caring, she _needs_ him. She bites her lip, looking away, “Please don’t, my love. I need you inside me Jon…”

He tries not to laugh. _She must really be tired from last night. She’s so keen already!._

“Look at me Sansa. Say it again.” The tip of his cock eagerly nudges at her entrance.

Sansa’s heated eyes peer into his, her fingers fumbling when she guides him inside her. He presses forward, playfully teasing her as the head of his cock prods at her, barely entering then pulling away, time and time again. 

She cups his head in her hands, eyes boring into his as she whispers, “I NEED your cock inside me, Jon. I need to cum around your cock so much it hurts. Fill me up, over and over, until I can’t think, only feel. Fill me up with your cum, _Lord Commander._ ”

He groans at her words, burying himself to the hilt and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. Sansa meets his thrusts with eager bucks of her own, their hips meeting in a lewd, wet smacking with each stroke. She wraps her legs around him higher, greedily trying to get as much of him inside her as she can. His pace quickens and she rises up to meet his speed, her peak approaching fast.

Jon kisses her hungrily, trying to hold himself back, “My love, I’m going to spill soon. I know I vowed to put a babe in you with all the seed I have before we start wasting it but tonight it’s your choice. Tell me where you want it.”

His words are almost too much to take. Her toes curled, she is _so_ close. Mind racing to which of her fantasies she wants the most right now, she chooses her favorite.

Eyes hooded in pleasure, she admits sheepishly, “I peak hardest when I feel how full I am with your cum. I need it. I want your cum as deep as you can put it, only yours inside me. Spill in me as deep as you can put it, Jon.”

His words catch in his throat, struggling to continue “Oh Gods Sansa, you’re so beautiful, everything about you is beautiful… Oh Gods, here it comes.”

Clenching around him, Sansa feels his cock swelling inside her, twitching as his cum gushes inside, filling her to overflowing, while her cunt sucks him in deeper with her release. Hips held high, she kisses him lazily, hoping to keep his seed inside her for as long as she can. As if reading her mind, Jon grabs the pillow she’d thrown at him and tucks it underneath her hips.

His eyes shine with love, “You are going to be a wonderful mother to our babes, sweet girl. I’ll give you as many as you want… I hope we have twin girls that look exactly like you.”

She chuckles drowsily, yawning, “Only if we first have sons that look exactly like you…”

Laying on his side, he watches her drift off as he fights to stay awake long enough to admire the way she looks deep in slumber, “Soon, my love, soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: House Stark rejoins the Targaryen armies at The Twins... Nothing could possibly go wrong with that right??


	9. We Stand Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Starks rejoin with the Targaryen party at the Twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sponsored by tequila, spotify, and the letter D. Enjoy!

 

Under the circumstances, these past days without the Dragon Queen are as carefree for her and Jon as they can be. Something about her demeanor at Winterfell seemed to cast a pall wherever she went, even before the battle.As much as Sansa is determined to arrive at the Twins with her head held high, the fact that they are rejoining the Targaryen small council in the very place where Mother, Robb, his wife, and their unborn babe were gruesomely murdered is affecting her more than she anticipates. Her stomach twists in knots, pulse racing the closer they get.

They arrive in the main courtyard, Sansa recalling what Arya shared with her one dark night soon after she arrived home. They kept the fires lit that night in her solar, Sansa watching the range of emotions flicker across Arya’s face. She left no detail out, recounting how she saw Grey Wind’s severed head fastened onto Robb’s corpse as the Freys paraded him about the castle grounds on horseback, mocking the King in the North. The memory is too much for her and she succumbs to an encroaching malady, dismounting her horse to vomit her breakfast in a lonely corner.

Jon rushes to her side, holding her hair behind her and rubbing her back, horrified at her sudden illness. “Sansa, tell me what you need! How can help you, sweet girl?”

She wipes her mouth with the handkerchief he offers, “Just some water for my throat, my love. I’m fine.” As she drinks from his flagon, he watches the anger bubble within her, color rising to her cheeks, “It’s just this place…Being here and seeing what Arya saw that night. After all this time, the smallest bit of solace I can find in this pain is knowing Arya avenged the Red Wedding. Those monsters, their name and their legacy will all disappear.” 

She adds fiercely, “That’s what happens to those who betray our family.” 

Missandei approaches them, uncomfortable at interrupting a clearly sensitive conversation. 

“Pardon this interruption, Lady Sansa, Lord Jon. The Queen is in the dining hall. She hasn’t been well since before we left Winterfell, her waking dreams trouble her of late. Now she seems to be… in a state, perhaps some company might ease her mind?”

The first thing Sansa notices about Daenerys’ closest confidante is how tired she looks, drained almost. It saddens her. In the scant conversations they’ve shared, Missandei revealed herself to be a wise, talented and compassionate woman. She doesn’t deserve whatever is causing her sleepless nights. 

Trying not to dread every step to rejoin Daenerys, Sansa grits her teeth in determination, faintly registering Jon’s fingers sliding against hers to grasp her hand in encouragement. They share a quick smile before hearing a loud clanging of metal against stone and the unmistakable voice of the Dragon Queen. 

“How DARE you!! Imbecile! Do something!!” She screeches, striking the poor girl on the mouth. “Fetch me water and a rag _now_!”

The target of her ire, a mere child, trembles in her shoes before fleeing to the kitchens. Sansa regards the look of terror as the young girl dashes past her. She recognizes her expression; she had that same look often. It takes her back to her days in King’s Landing as Joffrey’s favorite person to torment. As if by their own volition, her feet take her to Daenerys’s table as she witnesses the Dragon Queen attempting to clean her fur coat of spilled wine. 

“Seven blessings to you, Your Grace. It is disappointing to see the hospitality here is not to your satisfaction. This castle is not what it used to be. Maybe a tale might entertain you while you wait? Have you heard the story of the Rat Cook? It is a famous Westerosi story we tell children.”

Daenerys is thrown off kilter by Lady Sansa’s attempt to engage her in conversation. Her interest piqued, forgetting her fury a moment, she replies, “I have not.”

Pacing the ground beside the Dragon Queen, Sansa settles into her storytelling voice, the one she once used to get Rickon to sleep. 

“Legend has it the infamous Rat Cook was a simple cook at the Nightfort. Tales differ as to how, but the king had somehow wronged the cook so he killed the prince in revenge. He then served the Andal king a pie made of bacon and, unknown to the king, the king's son. As the king ate, he praised the taste and asked for a second piece. The gods were angered — not because the cook had committed murder, nor because he had made the king a cannibal — but because the cook had slain a guest beneath his roof. The Gods cursed the cook for his brutality and transformed him into a massive rat, doomed to be unable to eat anything but his own young.”

She pours herself some water before continuing. “It just so happens Walder Frey, the Lord of this very castle, slaughtered my mother, brother, sister by law, and their unborn babe underneath his own roof at a wedding where his daughter wed my uncle. Then one day, when Lord Frey had forgotten his crime, he savored a pie, asking for seconds, before he realized that his sons and heirs were baked within the pie. He was then murdered, throat slit and his face stolen by a nameless assassin. The assassin then took on Walder Frey’s face as he summoned every last member of House Frey to a feast. He toasted them to their death, for each one was poisoned by the wine the assassin served them, with a poison called the Strangler. They died slowly. In agony. Legend says the assassin told the last remaining Frey, a young girl, that ‘when people asked what happened here, tell them The North Remembers, tell them Winter came for House Frey.’ No one knows who did it, and I suspect no one will.” 

Bending down over Daenerys, she lowers her voice to a whisper, “So as you can see, the Rat Cook here was Old Man Frey. His whole house exterminated like the rats they were because he killed the guests under his roof. Nothing remains of him except this story.… Your Grace, as the Queen, every castle in the Seven Kingdoms is yours. _We_ are the guests holding castles for _you_. Harming anyone, even a lowborn servant, is something the Gods take seriously. The Gods give and the Gods take away. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our Queen. We’d hate if anything were to delay or prevent your reign from happening before you sit on the Iron Throne, wouldn’t we? I don't know how this girl wronged you but sometimes we must answer injustice or mistakes with mercy…” 

Daenerys stood up, eyes alight in suspicion, “Are you threatening me Lady Stark? I don’t need to sit the Iron Throne to know I _am_ the Queen, and my reign has just begun. I _will_ break the wheel that enslaves Westeros. People can live in my new world, or they can die in their old one. I will answer injustice with justice like I did in Essos, With Fire and Blood I _will_ answer it.”

“As you wish, Your Grace. I ask the Warrior to give us courage in these days of strife and turmoil and I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.”

She nods her head slightly at Daenerys, dismissing herself while Jon follows behind her as a shocked Tyrion looks on, mouth gaping open. Daenerys gives him and Varys a hard stare, “You _told_ me I was going to like her. What do I get? Nothing but disrespect. How do I know she won’t poison her children against me? My heirs must have some respect for my cause to liberate the realm. If they can’t respect me…” Her sentence trails off, yet Tyrion knows where her mind is headed. 

He shudders at the thought. _They can live in my new world, or they can die in their old one._ His mind recalls his own words and Varys’s reply _I’m her Hand, not her head. That’s what I used to tell myself about her father_.

He approaches her tentatively, “The wolves of Winterfell are quick to snap at times but rarely bite… Allow me to speak with her, Your Grace. Your heir must not have gotten his point across to her. Together we’ll make her listen to reason.”

She waves him off, deep in her cups. _While he does that, I’ll do what I do best. Let the wolves snap and growl. I am a dragon, and I refuse to be anything other than a dragon._  

_***_

Arriving in their rooms, Jon waits for Sansa to finish freshening up before he broaches the subject of what transpired with the Dragon Queen. The emotion of being here must’ve contributed to her pointed words with Daenerys. He pats the empty space on the bed next to him while she joins him. A small yawn escapes her as she snuggles next Jon.

“My love, you always have my trust. What happened in there with the Dragon Queen? From what I remember when we spoke with Lyanna and Yohn, that moment wasn’t planned, was it? I didn’t know how to support you…forgive me?”

Sansa looks up at him, taken aback. “Jon, there’s nothing to forgive. That moment wasn’t planned. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting to say that…It just happened. Our original plan still stands. I don’t foresee that outburst negatively affecting what we’re working towards. No matter what happens from this, we discuss everything and do it _together_.”

He kisses her forehead, whispering gently, “Together. Always.”

She yawns, “I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. Could we rest a bit before we head back out there?”

He draws her into his arms, “Aye. Some rest now will probably do us some good, especially for tonight.”

“What’s happening tonight, my love?”

Eyes closed, she can feel him smile against the side of her face.

“You’ll see…”

***

A while later, Tyrion finds Sansa alone, strolling on the bridge connecting the twin castles, watching a ship sail south for Riverrun.

“Lady Sansa?” He waits a beat before filling the palpable silence, “My lord, is the standard response…”

She stares into the distance, watching Daenerys ride Drogon, flying higher and higher towards the sun. “Why her?” She turns to face him, “Why do you follow her?”

The question throws him for a loop, it was the last thing he expected her to say.He gathers his thoughts, searching for the right words that could sway her opinion of Daenerys, “Her people love her, you’ve _seen_ that. You’ve seen how they fight for her! She wants to make the realm a better place, even if that means like every good ruler, she needs to inspire a bit of fear.”

Her expression remains unreadable, so he tries another angle. “My lady, I can’t help but sense you seem determined to dislike her. I’d feel much better about the future if we all arrive at Riverrun believing that you and Daenerys are allies. You don’t have to be her friend, but why provoke her like you did earlier? How is that in the best interest of your family or the north or-?”

It suddenly dawns on Sansa. “You’re _afraid_ of her”

She’d spoken the very thing he’d been trying to avoid consciously thinking about since she decimated the Lannister army and burned the Tarlys alive. He tries to keep his voice even and face unreadable, and yet cannot look her in the eye. He stares off into the distance instead.

“What leads you to think this, Lady Sansa?”

She whips around to face him. “Are you _really_ asking me that? After Joffrey? After Ramsey? After Littlefinger? You know what fear looks like, as do I. Search yourself. You know this to be true. From the way you look at her its also obvious that you love her. So you continually underestimate her. Know that more people will die if you keep doing that. What price will others pay because of your love for her? I used to think you were the cleverest man alive. Yet clever men don’t live in denial. Good day, Lord Tyrion.”

For what feels like the first time in his life, he feels shame, with no one to blame for it but his own self. She brought to light his most hidden feelings and there is no denying them now. Sansagently pats his shoulder, walking back to the castle, leaving a speechless Tyrion in her wake.

***

Daenerys winds up retiring to her chambers early, fast asleep by the time Missandei arrives with their supper. She dines with Varys and Tyrion instead, who quickly excuse themselves afterwards to retreat to their own chambers. Before Tyrion can reach his own accommodations, Varys ushers him into his rooms wordlessly. Lord Varys hands Tyrion a cup of wine as they settle down in Varys’s solar.

Leaning in lest anyone overhear, he searches Tyrion’s eyes for assent, “Truthfully, I worry about her state of mind. She’s not eating like she did. When she does, she insists on Missandei being present when her meals are being prepared. She wakes up in fits, screaming at times, sometimes about a glass candle, other times about the sun’s son. She’s fully reliant on milk of the poppy to fall asleep. She’s drinking more wine than she used to, and earlier in the day as well.” 

Tyrion turns to his friend eyebrow raised, “We are advisors to the queen, worrying about her state of mind is _our job_.”

Varys shakes his head, “She’s been in decline since before the burning of the Tarly’s, when she lost the Iron Islands, Dorne and the Reach. She burnt wagons of food. Food we still need. The loss of Ser Jorah and Grey Worm affected her more than she’s willing to admit. The Queen also seems blithely unaware that Missandei is struggling with her own grief. They are not as close as they used to be. The open revealing of Jon Snow’s parentage struck a heavy blow to her. Should anything else happen, will it send her over the edge? Her father started declining in a similar manner. If her mental state deteriorates, the realm will need someone to rule. Have you considered the best ruler is someone who doesn’t want to rule? Jon Snow did not want to be King in the North and yet did everything he could to save the North.”

“We’re discussing treason.” Tyrion shifts in his chair uneasily.

Varys’s eyes narrow, “Don’t pretend you haven't thought about it.”

Tyrion retorts back, “Of course I've thought about it. Thoughts aren’t treason.”

Varys stands up, looking into the fire before taking in his comrade’s expression, “You’ve always known the reason behind my alliances. With him as her heir, he will temper her impulses. The Lords will be appeased when the line of succession is established. A Targaryen father and a Stark mother. Should our Queen’s temperament continue to decay we have a viable alternative. An honorable man and a just woman. He’s temperate and measured, which makes him more appealing to the Lords of Westeros, who’s support we are going to need. The small folk will have heard about both of them and back them for their character. The fact is people are drawn to him. Wildlings. Northmen. He’s a war hero. Jon’s the one man alive who might actually be able to keep the North in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Dear friend, at a certain point person who choose who you believe in, and you fight for that person,” Tyrion sighs in resignation.

“Even if you know its a mistake?”

“I believe in our queen. She’ll return stronger than before and make the right choices. _With_ the help of her loyal advisers.”

“You know where my loyalty stands.” Varys looks out at the moonrise, “You know I would never betray the realm.” 

Tyrion becomes exasperated, “What _is_ the realm?” 

He looks at Tyrion in disbelief, “Millions of people many of whom will die if the wrong person sits on that throne. We don’t know their names, but they are just as real as you or I. They deserve to live. They deserve food for their children. I will act in their interest no matter the personal cost. I've spoken as honestly as I can. Do you care about the realm or will you continue to defend the Queen’s actions because you love her? Don’t try to deny it or make light of what she did today. It was the first time she’s openly struck someone and I suspect it won’t be the last. Each of us has a choice to make. I pray we choose wisely.”

Tyrion winces at Varys’s words. Much to his chagrin, it pains him that his feelings have been so blatantly pointed out not once, but twice today. _Clearly, I’ve lost my touch. What happened to theman who pissed off the edge of the Wall, to the God of Tits and Wine? Where is_ that _man?_ Hoping to come across as nonchalant, he dismisses Varys’s words with a wave, “And I pray for deep sleep after finishing several cups of wine. But first, I must speak with my brother.”

***

Sansa’s lips are thoroughly swollen from Jon’s kisses. Upon her return, he hoists her over his shoulder to arrange her delicately on their bed before pouncing. No matter how much she insists, writhing underneath him impatiently, he keeps on kissing her, tongue dancing across hers, drawing out her moans and whimpers until she cannot take it any longer.

“Jon, take me now before I go mad from deprivation!”

A knock on the door interrupts his response. Her eyes flash in anger towards the door while Jon answers with a chuckle.

The chambermaids leave as quickly as they arrive, placing everything exactly as Jon requested earlier. 

Jon beams at his Lady Wife, “My love, I don’t want us to leave this dreadful place without making at least one good memory together here. They took our family from us and Arya paid them back for that. But they cannot and _will_ not steal our future. So before we leave tomorrow, let us make tonight count for something. How does that sound, sweet girl?”

Sansa’s cheeks redden at his thoughtful gesture, “That sounds lovely… Now come back here and finish what we started!”

Jon gets closer to the bathtub and starts undressing in front of her. “That’s exactly what I’m doing filthy girl… I’m going to get into this tub. And you will do as your Lord Commander says. I command you to undress for me. Do it slowly, eyes on me. When you are fully undressed, you’ll join me in this bathtub. Before you do that, you’ll ask for my next instruction. Do you understand, my love?”

A rush of warmth floods her limbs, pooling down to her folds as slickness gathers. “Yes, my Lord Commander.” The words thrill her when they escape her lips. _Let’s play this game my love. I want to_ win _…_

She stares greedily as Jon, in all his gloriously nakedness, sinks into the bathtub. _The water is much too low for a proper bathe. What is he planning?_

Inspired, eyes heated, she peels off layer after layer of clothing. Throwing her nightrail off, she toys with herself, fingers trailing to pinch her nipples, sighing deeply as she slips her fingers down to tease her swollen bud. She closes her eyes, focused on the feeling between her thighs.

His gruff voice pulls her from her display, “Eyes on _me_ , filthy girl. Are you forgetting one last item? Take it off _now,_ Sansa.”

Her gaze flashes towards Jon. Chest heaving, he’s staring at her like a man starved. His cock is now at full hardness, standing proudly, bobbing above water. She peels off her silky smallclothes, heated eyes fixed on his glorious cock.

Completely nude now, her mind wanders. Part of her wants to rebel, not out of defiance but for his delicious discipline that follows. Instead, her need for release wins out as she waits expectantly for his next instruction.

“Good girl, _my_ girl, you are absolutely singular, one of a kind. Now get in here, face me and straddle my lap but don’t mount yourself on my cock until you absolutely cannot wait any longer. Before you do, tell me you’re ready. I’m going to cover your eyes with a piece of cloth before you start riding me, sweet girl.”

Sansa climbs in without hesitation. This new game has her blood boiling. _Yes, my King._ She devours his mouth in hungry kisses, moaning as his tongue meets hers with the same fervent passion, biting her lip to keep from mounting Jon.

Jon reaches out and pours two buckets of warm water in their tub, it barely reaches her waist. Rubbing her bud against the whole underside of his length, she continues kissing him until she murmurs, heart pounding, “I’m ready.”

“All right then, my love.” He pulls a long strip of silky cloth from beside the bathtub, fastening it around her head to cover her eyes, gently pulling her hair out of the restraint. 

Delighted to surrender her sight for heightened awareness, she whimpers, “Now, Jon. I _need_ you now.”

Jon strokes her long, creamy legs, pausing to caresses her luscious arse and admire the soft weight in his hands. He guides her folds to his length, positioning her entrance carefully above him.

“I have you, my love. Sink down now.”

Sansa exhales roughly, feeling every inch of his length, full and inviting inside her. She wastes no time riding him, her hips rolling smoothly, water splashing along the edge of the tub. 

Jon leans back, admiring Sansa’s enthusiastic pursuit for her bliss. Her flowing red tresses glow in the candlelight while she bounces on his lap, her mouth hanging open as her breathing grows ragged. Something about watching her find her pleasure on his cock, using him as her plaything affects him deeply. He soon starts matching her thrust for thrust, to her delight as she moans loudly.

As much as she enjoys gazing at her Lord Husband’s magnificent body, having her vision impaired by a piece of cloth heightens her pleasure. She revels in the thickness of his solid, turgid cock inside her, feels every sinewy muscle her fingers seek out as she grasps his hips. His soft groans are music to hear ears. She hears his growls growing in desperation. His fingers taste of her cunt, it excites her to no end. She breathes in his loose curls, basking in the smell of evergreen from the oils he combs into his hair. 

He senses she’s close to her peak, her walls fluttering around him. Jon grips onto the edge of the bathtub with one hand, gritting his teeth to hold off his peak, while the other circles her bud ferociously. 

“Oh Gods Jon!”

She wails with the euphoria coursing through her body, every muscle singing for joy against his body. Her walls pull him deeper inside her as he explodes within her, burying himself to the hilt, the tip of his cock presses against the entrance of her womb as wave after wave of his peak gushes inside her, spurting of his seed into her depths.

Jon tears off her blindfold, kissing her as his hands secure her firmly against his hips, unwilling to let her leave just yet. 

“My love, you look so radiant like this… This was another one of my filthy desires and to see it through with you, with you looking so damn appetizing…. I’ll give you your heart’s desire. What do you wish to try for our next adventure?”

She peers into his eyes, a blush running down her body. He can’t help but grin. After everything they’ve done, if she is shy about saying what she’s about to say, it must be _thoroughly_ depraved.

Sansa whispers into his ear her next idea, searching his eyes for a reaction when she finishes. The first reaction she gets; however, doesn’t come from his face but within her. Jon starts hardening inside her as he grins in disbelief that his sweet, filthy girl could be so wanton.

“Yes. Absolutely, yes. We’ll do it at Riverrun. And I won’t tell you when I’ll do it, it’ll be a surprise. How does that sound, sweet girl?”

She starts moving on his fully hardened cock, aroused beyond reason by the wet squelching of his cum already inside her, “Oh Jon, I normally hate surprises but I trust you’ll make it worth it…”

He smirks at her reply, basking in the filthy delight of feeling how full of his seed she is while meeting her thrusts,“Of course, my Queen. But for now, let make the rest of tonight worth it. The Dragon Queen is already furious, we might as well not restrain our lovemaking now if she’s already in a sour mood! I love how loud you get, my love. Don’t hold back anymore…” 

Sansa laughs, “She’d really hate it, wouldn’t she? All right then, let’s do it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Everyone finally arrives at Riverrun! Let the battle plans begin!


	10. Trust None of Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war council gathers at Riverrun for updates on the War for the Dawn.

 

At some point during her conversation with Quaithe, Daenerys realizes she is dreaming. She is vaguely aware of having this exact dream back in Essos but somehow, the same words seem far more sinister than before. 

_The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal._

Her mind twists the words, distorted images soon seep into her mind. _A blind white horse charges at me dripping blood from its mouth…a dead kraken wraps me in its tentacled arms squeezing the life from me….a rabid lion claws and pierces my heels and I crumble on the ground in agony…a stone griffin is gripping me with its claws and flies high in pursuit of twin suns shooting out black flames. It drops me and I free fall, landing onto a paper dragon hung on a wooden poles, carried by faceless shadows. I scramble off the dragon, taking the hand of a person who hauls me up to my feet but I cannot see beyond the man’s rings. A bright piercing light behind him licks at my face. I’m drowning in the scent of the man’s noxious perfume… I’m dreaming, wake up Dany, wake up!!! I’m rising higher, higher, higher…_

Her eyes open wide and she gasps for air, bed linens damp from her cold sweat, the man’s scent still lingering in her nose. It is midday. The knocking at the door must mean Missandei bringing her meal. 

She takes one look at her queen’s gaunt face, noting yet another sleepless night to add to this prolonged pattern. “Did you have a nightmare, Your Grace?” She pauses before gently suggesting, “Perhaps sharing your night terrors might help dispel its power over you?”

_If I look back, I am lost._ A chill runs down her spine as her mind pushes back at the haunting images, “I’d rather not. This particular one is reoccurring, which I’m starting to believe is not a dream but a warning from a shadowbinder from Asshai. It is for me alone to discern the meaning before sharing it.”

Missandei nods in resignation, hiding her disappointment, “As you wish, Your Grace. Once you are finished and dressed, we have a war council meeting where Lord Tully will introduce everyone. When we adjourn, Prince Quentyn requests a private audience with you. The new commander of the Unsullied, Red Flea, also wishes to speak with you.”

She yawns, stretching out in her bed, pouring some wine from her bedside table, “Very well, let’s begin shall we?”

***

Sansa’s uncle stands proudly amongst the throng of nobles gathered in the library, eager to play the role of host. “My Lord and Ladies, I am Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and the Twins.” He gestures to his wife, “This is Roslyn Frey, my Lady Wife. We extend to you our warmest welcome and hope you will find Riverrun’s hospitality to your satisfaction. We owe thanks for Lord Jon and Lady Sansa of Winterfell for bringing to our attention the threat the Night King and Army of the Dead pose to Westeros. If not for them, we would all be dead right now. As everyone has arrived at differing times and my memory fails me, Maester Vyman will introduce the members of our war council.”

A stern, white haired man nods at his Edmure, “Thank you, my Lord. We are a large gathering so if each of you would please rise upon introduction, it would help the others identify you better.” 

He clears his throat. “I present Lord Yohn of House Royce and Robin Arryn, Lord of the Vale. Representing the North is Lord Brandon Stark of Winterfell, Lady Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island, Lord Howland and Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch as well as, um, Tormund Giantsbane, chosen speaker for the freefolk beyond the Wall. Serving as Warden and Wardeness of the North is Lord Jon Targaryen and Lady Sansa Stark.”

Turning to his right, he continues, “Hailing from the Stormlands and Dorne, we welcome Ser Brienne of Tarth and her squire Podrick Payne, Lady Allyria Dayne of Blackhaven, the widow of Lord Beric Dondarrion, accompanied by her nephew and his former squire, Lord Edric Dayne of Starfall. Lord Dayne is advised by Jon Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost. Lastly, I present Prince Quentyn and Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne.”

Sansa cannot help but notice the beauty of the Dornish ladies in the midst of this palaver. Lady Allyria Dayne is stunning, lithe and graceful, with dark hair and sorrowful purple eyes, much like her nephew Edric’s eyes. Princess Arianne brushes away her wavy raven locks from her face, revealing her dewy olive skin and caramel eyes. Small in stature, she showcases her ample bosom with sheer, flowing silks, toying with a long gold necklace nestled between her breasts as she brazenly makes eyes at Jon.

Maester Vyman drones on, “From the Westerlands and the Reach, I present Ser Damon Lannister of Lannisport, Ser Sandor Clegane of Clegane’s Keep, and Ser Garth Hightower of Hightower. From Essos, I also present Captain Harry Strickland of the Golden Company and representatives of the Red God R’hllor, Lady Melisandre of Asshai and Moqorro called Dark Flame, High Priest of the Fiery Hand.” 

Varys warily regards the imperious Red Priest. Moqorro looms over the group, as tall as, if not taller than Ser Brienne or Sandor Clegane, his rich ebony skin contrasts sharply with his thick mane of flowing white hair. Red and orange flame tattoos paint his cheeks and forehead, matching his scarlet robe, sleeves embroidered with orange satin flames. The staff he carries is most disconcerting, it’s his equal in height, bearing a dragon’s head. It spits green sparks when he knocks it on the table at his introduction.

The maester’s voice disrupts his thoughts, “If Lady Missandei would be so kind as to introduce your small council and our honored guest?”

She smiles kindly, “Certainly, my Lord.”

Missandei addresses the gathering, “I am Missandei, trusted advisor and translator to the Queen, I present Red Flea, commander of the Unsullied army and Rakharo, bloodrider of the Dothraki horde, Lord Varys serves as Master of Whisperers and Tyrion Lannister as Hand of the Queen.” 

She pauses before reminiscing on the countless times she’s spoken these words, “Finally, my Lord and Ladies, it is my utmost honor to introduce to you Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.”

Daenerys stands smugly, basking in the power she feels at this moment. _The first of many times I address all of Westeros. If there was ever a moment history would say my reign began in Westeros, it would be this moment right now_. “My Lords and Ladies, you may be seated. My heir, Lord Jon, will now discuss the newest developments in this war.”

Jon rises once more, holding every eye in the room. Some are delighted to hear from him, few are wary, all are fascinated. He meets Arianne Martell’s eyes stoically, quickly moving to the next person when she gives him a surreptitious wink. “This information is brought to us by Brandon Stark. His skills were vital in defeating the first Army of the Dead at Winterfell as well as discovering the Night King’s whereabouts in the South. I trust him with my life and if anyone here has any doubts as to the accuracy of his information, they are welcome to speak to _me_ directly.” 

He nods at Bran before continuing, “With that being said, Bran discovered the Night King sent half of the new Army of the Dead to slaughter King’s Landing, while the other half went as far as they could without crossing water, from Dyre Den to Maidenpool to Rosby to massacre the rest of the Crownlands. As alarming as it is, ultimately this news alters our timelines in our favor as we finish constructing and transporting our ballistas, trebuchets and catapults along the battlelines. This also proves that their army cannot cross water, as we suspected. Construction of our fire borders are almost complete and the lines of the battlefield are lain to our advantage. Bran will continue to update us on the Night King and Viserion’s whereabouts as we near the time to fight. He also located Cersei Lannister. She’s fled to Dragonstone with the Lannister army. Periodically, she’s sent a few men to the mainland to scout for safe surroundings. She’s stopped for now because none returned. As such, she won’t be threat with and her army cloistered at Dragonstone. And now my Lady Wife will inform you of the ravens we’ve received from Winterfell and the Citadel.”

Sansa flashes Jon a loving grin before eyeing the Dornish princess, solemnly addressing the crowd. “Thank you, Lord Husband. We received a scroll from Maester Wolkan at Winterfell. He writes that Yara and Theon Greyjoy killed Euron Greyjoy, took back the Iron Islands, and seized control over the Iron Fleet. After learning from Winterfell the Night King took King’s Landing, they sent their armada back south to defend the Bay of Crabs and Blackwater Bay. They left the Iron Islands and will be joining us here soon with some of their bannermen. The addition of their armada now means all sides of the battlefield will be defended by our allies.”

She pauses for the sounds of approval to dissipate before continuing, “A raven from the Citadel also arrived today from Archmaester Marwyn. They recovered an ancient scroll detailing the process of forging Valyrian steel. Upon further examination it seems complicated; however, my sister’s betrothed has experience working with Valyrian steel so we’ll consult with him before giving it a go. Lastly, on that subject, my brother located our sister and her betrothed’s whereabouts. Their trip proved successful. They are accompanied by a host of wolves and plan to make camp in the mountains near Hollow Hill. I believe this is all the information we have to share for now. Unless anyone else has other announcements, our meeting is adjourned!” 

Sansa smiles warmly at the Lords and Ladies who introduce themselves, congratulating her on her recent nuptials to Jon. She makes polite conversation, surveying her surroundings, taking note of the people drawn to each other, as well as those who intentionally stay away from each other. The information could prove useful to their cause if applied at the most opportune time…. Her interest is piqued when she sees Daenerys leave the room with the Dornish prince trailing close behind. _A noteworthy sight indeed._

***

With Jon discussing soldier encampment locations with Lord Royce, Captain Strickland, and an intrigued Lord Connington, Sansa enjoys the peace and quiet of sitting in Riverrun’s Godswood, breathing in the scent of blooming flowers as birds chirp high in the canopies above. She imagines her mother sitting here as a young girl, working at her embroidery as she does right now. Approaching footsteps draw her out of her reveries as she eyes the Spider drawing near, apparently intent on speaking with her alone.

He bows low before meeting her eyes, “Lady Sansa, I wanted to personally acknowledge the graceful way in which you rule as Lady of Winterfell. Power suits you and, in the face of battle, the South is more at ease with your presence.

_His similarity to Littlefinger is uncanny._ She smothers a smirk before wryly replying. “ _Is_ it, Lord Varys? I must remember to write that down for posterity’s sake lest I forget it. Does your flattery have a purpose or are you here to waste my time?”

He appears unperturbed by her brusque response. “May I sit?”

She doesn’t hesitate before answering, “No.” She stands up, “I gather you’re not here exchange pleasantries, nor to discuss the Army of the Dead. Let us stroll the Godswood whilst telling me what it is you’re truly seeking.” 

They pace around the stone pathways for a beat before he begins, “Jon Snow has a better claim to the throne than our Queen’s. But of course, you must know that. Your marriage is also a direct result of Jon’s Targaryen heritage being discovered…Revealed might be the better word for it actually. Congratulation are in order, Lady Sansa. You used the cruel tutelage of Littlefinger and refined it into one of your strongest weapons. Influence is largely a matter of patience. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She replies apathetically, “I’m not quite sure what you mean by that.”

He tuts with a sigh, “I think you do. If not, forgive me for wasting your time, I thought we shared complementary interests.”

She knows he’s leading her on and chooses to bait him further, “Come now, is that all you came to say? I’m rather disappointed. I was under the impression the Spider’s wit is legendary in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

He stops to look at her gravely, “Let’s just say I choose my allies carefully, and my enemies carefully still.”

Eyebrow raised, she drawls, “I get the sense the point of this conversation is about to finally surface.”

Looking around briefly for prying eyes, he whispers to her, “I worry about Daenerys’ state of mind. You’ve seen her; that’s only a taste of it. Should we survive this war against the dead, the realm will need strong, influential minds to assume power. Preferably an honorable man and a just woman to restore the Seven Kingdoms? I might have a clever solution to ensure a peaceful reign.”

Sansa rolls her eyes at him, “One doesn't need to be clever for that. It’s all rather obvious isn’t it?” 

He appears to be surprised, “I take it we are both of similar minds after all. This is pleasant discovery indeed. I must sing this joyful song to some little birds, thank the Gods. I won’t keep you any longer, my Lady. Thank you for this fruitful conversation.”

She gives him a quick smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “The pleasure may very well be mine. Oh and Lord Varys?”

“Yes, my lady?”

She steps closer, her voice low and severe, “This is the last conversation we have in private. Anything you deem necessary to say to me you will say with my Lord Husband present. I cannot speak more bluntly than that.”

He bows low once more before leaving, “As you wish, my lady.”

***

Daenerys lingers in the corner next to Jon and Sansa’s chambers, hidden in a dark nook. She saw Sansa briefly return to their chambers before leaving in the direction of the Godswood. _That buys me time_. It appeared that Jon had some tedious conversation after the meeting, so it was only a matter of waiting for him to appear. Surely enough, he approaches from the opposite direction, entering the room without so much as a glance her way. _Now is my chance!_

She closes the door behind her, rushing to Jon’s side wearing the sheerest frock she has, one that leaves nothing to the imagination. _If it rendered Daario speechless, it’s certainly good enough for the likes of Jon Snow._ “Oh Jon, I’ve missed you warming my bed. Our night together certainly inspired me these past lonely nights but I _cannot_ take this anymore. Come to me tonight, I wish to show you my… _appreciation_ …

He pushes her back at arms length, trying to rein in his disgust, “Daenerys… you’re my aunt.”

She purrs at him seductively, “That didn’t stop you from filling me up with that thick cock of yours.”

Unable to hold back, he spits out his irritation. “Stop that. I didn’t know you were my aunt back then. Now that I know, that everyone knows… I can’t and I won’t. Sansa is my wife and I love her.”

Daenerys rolls her eyes at him, already bored, “Listen I understand you are married and doing your duty to further our family line. You love your sister enough not to dishonor her as your wife, but that doesn’t mean it’s forbidden or wrong for you to seek your own pleasure! The least I can do is _reward_ you for the tedious and thankless task of restoring House Targaryen.”

Jon shakes his head at her, trying to get his point across. “You misunderstand me. I’ll not betray Sansa because of duty but because I love her, _truly_ , as a woman and as my wife.”

She tosses her hair, scoffing at him, “Clearly she’s bewitched you. Did I mean nothing to you then?”

_She must be dense_. He sighs, trying another angle. “When we met, I saw you were beautiful. The North needed dragonglass and you needed an alliance. So I made an effort. Listen to me carefully when I say _nothing_ we shared even compares to what I have with Sansa. She is _everything_ to me.”

That seems to get through to her, emotions flit across her face before it settles with a stony glare. “If _that’s_ how you feel, more’s the pity. I tried sparing you from this option and I hate to do it, but I will. As easily as I named you my heir, I can easily unname you… I’ve met everyone that matters in Westeros now. They know I’m a political force to be reckoned with. It’s only a matter of time before Tyrion and Varys sway them to my side, with or without you as my heir. You’ll come to my chambers tonight, and as often as I like from now on, or you can dismiss any notion of being my heir from your pretty little head, Jon Snow. If you don't care about what happens to you, then think about your precious Sansa and your family. What would happen to them? You’ll visit my chambers tonight, do you understand? Like you said, I’m beautiful so it won’t be too difficult to stir you, would it?”

Jon runs his hands through his hair in agitation. Suddenly, a calm comes over him. His eyes narrow, doing little to contain his wrath. “I’ve heard what you had to say. Now you’ll listen to _me_. I will not visit your chambers tonight, or ever again, _Aunt_ Daenerys. We both know that’s an empty threat. You wouldn’t dare unname me as your heir because truthfully you need my marriage now more than ever to secure your hold over Westeros. You saw for yourself in that room: there’s no other person with as much political sway to keep peace in the kingdoms than Sansa. As for your advisers, one lost you three armies while the other hasn’t had an advantageous piece of information in all the time I’ve known you. Lastly, if you ever threaten my wife or family again, you’ll have more half the kingdoms in an uproar, be assured of that.”

She glares at him haughtily, her face mere inches from his, hissing, “How _dare_ you speak to me that way, Jon Snow. You’ll regret it, be assured of _that_.”

The door opens quickly as Sansa walks in, unaware until she takes in the scene in front of her. Jaw dropped in shock, her eyes flit to Daenerys then Jon before fleeing the room, slamming the door behind her.

Daenerys smirks at him with vainglorious satisfaction before Jon bellows, “GET OUT!!!”

***

Lord Varys closes the door behind him, with a quick bow at Bran and Meera, “Lord Stark, Lady Reed says you wish to speak with me?”

Bran motions to the chair next to him, “That’s correct. Have a seat.”

“How may I be of service, my Lord?”

Eyebrow raised, Bran answers coolly, “The matter is more so of how I can help _you_ , Lord Varys. You see, I know of the conversation you just had with my sister, and the implications of that meeting. I do hope you know what happens to those who betray my family. While you’ve enjoyed the title of spymaster to many kings, now a queen; truthfully, your spy work is no match for what I am. I see beyond time. Past, present, future, it’s all within reach. It’s how I know you’ve been afraid of dying since your conversation with Lady Melisandre at Dragonstone. She’s right. You _will_ die here in Westeros. You’re afraid of _so_ many things Lord Varys… Magic as a whole for one, the Red Priestess Kinvara for another. She spoke with you in Meereen did she not? ‘Knowledge has made you powerful. But there’s still so much you don’t know. Do you remember what you heard that night when the sorcerer tossed your parts in the fire? You heard a voice call out from the flames. Do you remember? Should I tell you what the voice said? Should I tell you the name of the one who spoke?’ Yes, that’s exactly what she said.” He leans, searching Varys’s face as it pales from the memory. “I too know the name of the one who spoke. Do you wish to know what the voice said?”

Varys shrinks into himself, eyes welling with emotion, muttering at the floor. “I still relive it in my sleep… even after killing the sorcerer… I _must_ know.”

Bran leans back placidly, nodding at Meera, who moves behind him, her hand on the hilt of her sword. “I will tell you on one condition. You will cease with your ulterior motives behind your support for my cousin Jon as king. You will write to your brother by law Illyrio Mopatis and dissolve your plot to place his son Aegon in the small council, in the hope he’ll usurp the Iron Throne. I know you loved Serra and it pained you to lose your sister to greyscale, but putting her son on the throne would do more harm to the realm than good. Do you really care about the realm like you claim you do? You have not spoken to Harry Strickland about Aegon being a Blackfyre, nor will you, because I _will_ know if you do.”

Bran lowers his voice, his tone ominous, “Try to harm to me and know every precaution I placed for such an event will come into play. You’ll be imprisoned for months, your silver hair will grow out and expose you as the Blackfyre you are. Never betray my family, or you will suffer the same fate as your associate, Littlefinger. His schemes caught up with him and my family exposed every single one of his crimes. Now, do you still wish to know?”

Lord Varys looks positively queasy knowing he is caught, every part of his plan exposed so plainly, he whispers, “Yes.”

Bran’s eyes bore into his, “When the Dragon Queen told you, ‘If you ever betray me, I'll burn you alive,’ she was telling the truth. The name of the one who spoke is Daenerys Targaryen. When you were cut, you heard a voice and then a scream. What she whispered was, “Dracarys.” The scream you heard was your own.”

***

Sansa sits quietly in the Godswood underneath the forlorn Weirwood, taking in tonight’s events. Walking into their chambers, the first thing she sensed was the charged atmosphere. The air felt thick with tension before she even saw Daenerys and Jon speaking closely.

She manages to focus on her breathing, in and out, deep and steady, before allowing her mind to process what she just witnessed. Staring above into the canopy of redwoods and elms, she is lost in her thoughts when someone comes up from behind and clasps her mouth and eyes shut with big, warm hands. As the stranger kisses the back of her neck, she catches a whiff of evergreen in the air.

The voice is distinctly male, low and gruff, “Quiet now, or you’ll regret raising the alarm.”

The stranger covers her eyes in a cloth, her mouth is gagged with another tied cloth, and her hands with a leather restraint. Hoisting her over his shoulder, he quickly dodges past crowded areas, skillfully navigating through lonely hallways and empty paths. She feels herself being placed back on her feet before her kidnapper scoops her up and loads her onto a small skiff. Wondering at where he’s taking her, she tries loosening the leather restraints before he smacks her hands.

“Stop or you’ll pay for that, _Your Grace._ ”

Her pulse races, blood running hot at his words and coursing through her veins to nestle between her thighs as a wave of nervousness overtakes her. She bites her lip in anticipation of what her captor has planned. They reach the destination he seeks, hearing him climb out of the little boat to anchor it on solid ground. 

“Stand up!”

She scrambles up unsteadily, teetering until he throws her on his shoulder once more. He walks a fair distance before setting her down once more. Nimble fingers untie her gag first, then her blindfold before he turns to face her. 

Her captor is dressed in roughly sewn furs, wild black curls loosened. He stares at her hungrily before speaking, “I am Jon Longclaw, King Beyond The Wall. I’ve heard tales of the Queen in the North’s beauty and I needed to see it for myself. Now that I have, I refuse to leave without taking you for my wife. Freefolk tradition is that we steal our wives and so I have. I claim you as my wife, from this day to my last day.”

She smirks, circling the wildling King, “That’s a lovely story and all, King Beyond the Wall, but I don’t think that’s the end of it. See, what if I don’t agree to be stolen? You’ll need to try harder than _that,_ Your Grace…”

She sprints off towards the woods, struggling to undo her restraints. The crunch of leaves in the distance means he’s tracking her. Sansa runs faster, ducking under low branches to break out of the forest back to the quieter grassy fields surrounding them. She pauses a second to catch her breath, before she sees Jon at the edge of the woods. She starts up again, laughing and dashing towards the sound of a trickling stream. Ripping off her leather ties, she gains speed. Splashing through the stream, blood pumping through her veins like wildfire, she feels _alive_. 

She feels rather than sees Jon approaching her, a rush of wind announces his arrival as he tackles her to the ground. Refusing to give up their little game, she writhes underneath his body, refusing to kiss him, until he pins her arms with his, roughly pressing his hardness between her thighs.

Quickly losing her will to pretend to fight back, she bucks against him with a moan, throwing her arms around his neck and matching his fervor as their tongues meet, clashing for supremacy. 

Jon trails his fingers down her clothed curves, growling at her. “Dress. Off. Now!”

She works at the laces of her gown hurriedly, fingers fumbling. By the time she manages to shrug off her gown, Jon is fully undressed. He sinks back down to his knees and rips off her shift in single move before doing the same with her smallclothes, tossing them behind his shoulder without a second glance. His rough fingers sink into her thighs, parting them to the sound of her giggles.

“Oh Jon!” She wraps her legs around his head, bucking up into his mouth while he devours her folds impatiently, lapping up her slickness. They hold each other’s gaze until Jon’s flutter shut in ecstasy, relishing her moans and the soft trembles building inside her. His swollen lips grasp onto her bud, his rolled tongue gently nudging to expose her hidden, most tender flesh. When he succeeds, he blows lightly, feeling more slickness gather on his fingers as he strokes into her, up and to the right, exactly the way she likes. 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head, groaning out, “More, My King, More!!”

His cock is already dripping for want of her but he ignores it as much as he can, determined to see her unhinged. He adds a third finger, stroking roughly, his tongue delicately working at her swollen bud. It’s all she needs to send her over the brink. She screams her satisfaction under the night sky, thrilled to be as unrestrained as she truly wants. The depraved part of her secretly delights at the thought of people hearing their pleasured moans reverberate through the castle walls, but as for this right now, there’s something especially craven about crying out her bliss under the moonlight…

Jon rolls to her side to catch his breath. Before he can think to cuddle beside her, Sansa wastes no time lining up his cock to her entrance, her peak only fleetingly slaking her desire for him. He reaches up, marveling at how quickly her rosy nipples harden between his fingers. He palms her breasts; mayhaps it’s his lust addled mind, but he can almost swear they’ve gotten fuller as he admires their heft in his hands. Sansa’s chosen pace is fast and rough, engulfing him into her tight, warm cunt and bouncing in his lap while he holds her hips, cherishing her breathy moans and her loose curls rippling down her creamy breasts. _It’s all too much and yet not enough…I’ll never get enough of you…_

He leans up to growl in her ear, “I’m going to fill you up so deep and full Sansa. However many babes you want, I’ll give them to you my love. I’ll massage your round belly and rub your tired feet and suckle your breasts. Whether adorned all over your body or buried deep inside you, you’ll always be drenched with my cum, my filthy girl, I promise…” 

“Seven hells, my King! Yes, my love, yes!”

Her pace is becoming irregular and he knows she’s close to her peak again. It drives him wild to know mere words affect her so deeply. He sucks at her neck, drawing out love bites until he starts to plead with her, “My Queen, let me take you like a wolf under the night sky, please!”

Sansa can no more deny his plea than she can stop the seasons from changing. “Gods yes, Jon! Do it now!”

He flips them over and Sansa groans. Before she can pout and protest, she feels his cock gingerly prod at her entrance before plunging back inside her. Jon waits a brief moment for her to adjust around his thickness before rapidly growing relentless with his fevered thrusts. Closing her eyes to savor how completely he fills her in this position, she feels him focusing his thrusts on the most sensitive places inside her, drawing her back to the brink. She reaches out to grab him, his arse, his leg, anything to join them as deep as she can take him. He leans down to her, kissing her neck, whispering hotly, “I love the way you come alive for me… but not as much as I love the way you come undone underneath me, filthy girl. Go ahead, let go!”

Sansa’s body erupts in crashing waves of ecstasy. She clenches around him as she wails in satisfaction, drawing him deeper inside her with his every thrust, milking him of his seed. With one last push, Jon coats her over and over with each thick surge of his warm cum to her womb, spurting past her folds, streaming down her thighs.

He lays her down on her back, fingers lazily plunging inside her to coax one more peak from her. Her limbs begin to tremble once more. He smirks mischievously, his voice husky with desire between kisses, “Tell me what you need sweet girl. Do you want my mouth on you, on your soft, delicious folds, our juices running down my mouth as I bring you to another peak? Do you wish me to smack your arse in punishment with my fingers inside you? Do you crave being at my complete mercy because secretly, you already know your King knows your body better than you do? Is that what you want, my sweet girl?”

This release is more shattering than her first two. It catches her by surprise as she screams at the sky, “Gods, My King! Yes! All of it! I want it all!” The way she clings to his fingers, her limbs quaking as her peak tapers off never ceases to thrill him. She soon starts nodding off, wrung out and satiated. Jon chuckles as he wraps her in a cloak and kisses her forehead. “Just for five minutes my love. Then we have to head back, it’s getting late.”

He looks down to see Sansa fast asleep, the corners of her mouth turned up in a secret smile. It makes his heart throb inside his chest. _Everything I am is yours, forever._

 

***

Flying about in the dark of night settles Daenerys’s mood. She’d mostly gotten past Jon’s rejection. _Another man will have to do. Who wouldn’t want to satisfy the needs of their Queen? It’s been so long… Maybe the Hightower man, or Captain Strickland? Lord Arryn is a bit young but comely enough._

Distracted by her cravings, a loud sound interrupts her thoughts. She squints down to the ground, searching for its origin before her blood quickens once more. 

Two figures, stark naked under the twinkling stars, are unaware they’re being watched as Daenerys witnesses their enthusiastic lovemaking. The woman rides the man exuberantly, clearly close to her peak. She tosses her hair, the moonlight gleaming on her long, red hair. _Red hair!!!_ The man flips them, positioning her under him so she’s on her hands and knees while the dark haired man takes her from behind. He’s insatiable. They soon finish together, screams and moans echoing in the distance. She watches him kiss her passionately, his fingers trailing down to play with her cunt. Her heart sinks, stomach turning. _It’s Jon and the wolf bitch_ … _He never did those things with me…_

Daenerys’s hands tremble, vision blurry and chest heaving with contained fury. _I need to burn something. NOW._ Drogon senses her anger at the Targaryen man, purring his concern at her before resigning himself to the direction she wants to fly. _She’s changed so much in a short amount of time and it’s not because of what’s happening, but how she’s reacting to it._ Flying together seems to help her lately so he’ll do what he must to be there for Mother when she needs him. They fly off, heading north in pursuit of somewhere and something in which to vent her feelings. She pushes the images of what she just saw out of her mind until she can destroy something. _You’re a dragon. Be a dragon. Trust none of them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to kazetoame and Savage Architect for the ideas and comments that led to the some of the events in this chapter!
> 
> Dearest readers, sorry for the delay this last chapter. It’s my plan to post weekly but in all transparency, it’s been a busy couple weeks. Things currently on my plate: an internship, college courses, a super important test I need to study for coming up next month, auditions etc. So churning out the upcoming chapters might take a bit longer than my usual posting. 
> 
> Getting back to the story, a lot is happening over a span of mere days that will unfold in the upcoming chapters: why the Faceless Men were in Westeros, Azor Ahai, more on Quaithe, and the Ghost of High Heart to name a few. I’m still on track with my outline, addressing the majority of show loose ends in Act Two before the War for the Dawn so thank you in advance for your patience, support and lovely comments! Seven blessings to you all :) XOXO, WQKBF


	11. Lightbringer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from an unexpected writer. Revealing conversations between new and old friends. A prophecy with lasting consequences. A new game between Lord Husband and Lady Wife.

 

“Come in!” Jon yawns, wiping the sleep from his eyes while heading for the door. Faint rays of sunlight filter in through the closed shutters of their chambers and solar.

Maester Vyman quickly bows before handing Jon a scroll. “This just arrived for you, my Lord.”

“Thank you Maester.” He takes the scroll, noting the seal. _This sigil isn’t Westerosi…_

Vyman leaves as quickly as he enters, leaving Jon to climb back into bed. Sansa curls into his side and he tosses the scroll into her hands, choosing to wrap his arms around her instead.

She cocks her head in confusion, facing him. “That’s odd, were you expecting this?”

He shrugs indifferently. “No. I have no clue who could be writing. Open it!”

She unfurls the scroll to look down at the author. Eyes wide in shock, she chooses to whisper its contents to Jon, lest anyone overhear such sensitive information.

 

_To Prince Aemon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen, commonly known as Jon Snow,_

_On behalf on the Iron Bank of Braavos, we extend hearty well wishes on your recent marriage to Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell. We also wish you good fortune in the wars to come. Our keyholders felt it necessary to communicate with you at this juncture in current Westerosi events. News of your true parentage reached us in Essos. Your meeting with Queen Cersei Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen about the threat the Night King poses has been brought to our attention. Sources reveal that Cersei refuses to aid your mission to fight the dead. Given that you rallied support from the surviving noble houses governing all regions of the Seven Kingdoms in spite of this, we propose a partnership should your plans to defeat the Night King prove successful._

_For any reason, should you press your claim and sit on the Iron Throne instead of Daenerys Targaryen or Cersei Lannister, you must be informed that the latter repaid the Iron Throne’s debt in full. However, Westeros has been war ravaged for far too long. If the dead are defeated, you will be in need of finances to rebuild the kingdoms. The Iron Bank would potentially be interested in negotiating a loan with you to accomplish this for your people._

_Tales of your time as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and King in the North proves your commitment for doing what is needed for the greater good. Should you be named King of the Seven Kingdoms, we would also assist you in arranging the best circumstances for the Unsullied and Dothraki armies. For those soldiers who choose to live outside of Westeros, we would extend an invitation for the Unsullied to reside as free men in Braavos. Magistrates in Pentos have also signaled interest in their skills as a possible sellsword company, should they decide to take on contracts. The Dothraki who choose to return to the Dothraki Sea will be given passage along with their horses, courtesy of the Iron Bank._

_Obviously, this is all hypothetically speaking. As a Targaryen dragonrider with experience leading as Lord Commander and King in the North, it behooves us to provide you with the option to partner with the Iron Bank for your financial needs should you sit on the Iron Throne. War is unpredictable; war against the dead even more so. We who serve the Iron Bank face death as often as you who serve the Iron Throne. No further communication with us is needed unless you decide to take the bank on its offer._

_Regards,_

_Tycho Nestoris and Noho Dimittis,_

_Envoys of the Iron Bank of Braavos_

 

They look at each other, taken aback at its contents. This wasn’t part of their plan but it could very well serve the cause anyhow… Who could have informed the Iron Bank? And what was their motivation for informing them? 

He frowns, tossing the scroll aside, “Let’s ask Bran if he can discover how and when the Iron Bank found out about my parents. This could very well be good news for us but I won’t take any chances with the intent of the original informant. There’s no use worrying until we know more… Now where were we?” 

Jon beams at her with all the zeal of a greenboy. He flips Sansa underneath him for a series ofrousing, drawn out kisses. “I know you have meetings soon, as do I, but first I have a gift for you!”

She preens under his touch, her mind growing hazy with desire as he absentmindedly trails kisses down her body while pulling a tiny case from under their bed. 

“Jon, there’s no need. We’re in the middle of a war…You are more than enough for me.”

He gapes in shock, appalled by her words, “Sansa! War or not, I have _every_ right to lavish my Lady Wife with gifts if I so desire.”

She unties the ribbon, peering inside the carved wooden box at him with a puzzled look.

His smiles gently, “Take them out.”

Sansa cups her hand, tipping the box over to hold two smooth jade spheres, admiring their heft and size, bigger than grapes yet smaller than figs. “They’re beautiful, thank you Jon.”

“They serve a purpose, actually…” His voice grows husky, “Do you want to know how?”

Her pulse races, coming to the realization this may not be the innocent gift she thought it was.“Yes,” she whispers.

“Good. Spread your legs wide open for me, my love.”

His words cause her mind to blank and her body to flush with excitement. She obeys him wordlessly, eagerly parting her legs for him.

He takes the jade spheres from her palm and pops one in his mouth, rolling it around as he kneels before her and lifts up her shift and lowers her smallclothes. Fixing his heated gaze on hers, he plucks the warm jade ball from his mouth and places it between her folds, pushing up, up, up until it’s encased snugly inside her walls. He pops the second jade ball in his mouth, repeating the gesture before adjusting her smallclothes snugly back onto her hips.

“Go ahead Sansa, walk a few steps.”

Unsure of the outcome, she paces around their chambers, taking in the sensation inside her. The jade spheres move against each other, shifting against her taut walls with a delicious friction. _Oh. OH…Ohhhh._ A giggle bubbles up from within her, erupting from her lips as one stone starts to slide down slightly and she clenches down, using her inner muscles to hold them within her. The effort sends a wave of heat between her thighs. She takes a deep breath, understanding their purpose. 

The impish glee in Jon’s eyes threaten her composure as he lovingly encourages her, “My love, be my good girl and do everything you can to keep them inside you until I take them out tonight. Don’t let them fall out or find your release without me, or I’ll punish you, do you understand?”

Her heart begins to race at the reminder of his last punishment. “Yes, my King.”

Jon chuckles, taking in face as she attempts to regain her serenity, “Perfect. You’re perfect, sweetling.” He gives her arse a playful smack, “Now off you go!”

 

***

Arya walks the halls of Riverrun, mind running through a list of supplies she and Gendry need for the camp they’ve made in the mountains nearby. Nymeria and her pack took to the mountains near Hollow Hill relatively easily, hunting their new environs for food and choosing a pocket of secluded caves for shelter. No sightings of ice spiders reported so far. Uncle Edmure offered her comfortable chambers within castle walls but she quickly refused, telling him she prefers to come and go as she pleases. She couldn’t very well tell him that fucking Gendry outdoors was far more pleasurable than them being confined to the castle, surrounded by Lords and Ladies she was expected to make conversation with. Like a proper Lady. After the heckling she gave Sansa about being loud, it’s in her best interest to keep her own proclivities far away from castle walls.

Her train of thought dissipates as a chill runs up her spine, the back of her neck prickling in warning. Her eyes flash around the halls and rests on a lone Northerner leaning against a wall. He trudges slowly in her direction. She can’t recall seeing him fighting in Winterfell, or traveling with them down from White Harbor for that matter. _It’s not like I can remember every person that’s ever fought for my family but still…something’s not right._ She treads the ground in a feline grace, gripping the hilt of her Valyrian steel dagger as they approach each other.

He nods in her direction and whispers “valar morghulis” before seemingly disappearing as he turns the corner. List forgotten, she changes direction, heading back to camp. She _has_ to warn Gendry. _I’ll run back to my family afterwards and let them know but he’s alone at our camp. Anything could happen to him there! I won’t lose him again…_

Nothing and everything changed when the Waif stabbed her in Braavos, some sort of advance knowing birthed inside her. This additional sense served her well when she first reunited with Nymeria. It served her well when she led Littlefinger around Winterfell so he could track her tracking him. Sansa followed through on her work, feigning open argument and leading Littlefinger from thinking he was sowing discord between siblings right into his surprise execution. 

She could never truly be a Faceless Man, but it still bothers her as to why she was allowed to leave without consequence. _Why would they train me if they suspected I’d return home? Or was that the point? What did they really want with me? It makes no sense._ No matter their reasons why, Arya knew she’d be sleeping with Needle in hand tonight.

 

***

Daenerys bit her pillow to stifle her moans, breathless and invigorated from her release. She tries to remember the last time she experienced such an overwhelming peak as she leaps out of bed with more energy than she’s had for weeks. It’s as if a rekindled well of fire is overflowing, barely contained, ready to erupt from within her.

_Last night was the most refreshing sleep I’ve had since the Battle of Winterfell, nay since I left Essos! My night ride with Drogon last night made ALL the difference! Seeing Jon and Sansa fucking out in the open might’ve been the thing I needed to regain clarity and control over my life. After feeling so powerless and unloved after coming to Westeros, last night unlocked something in me that I needed for me to feel at ease in my homeland._

She paces the floor, recalling her time in the House of the Undying. “ _Three fires must you light…one for life and one for death and one to love…three mounts must you ride…one to bed and one to dread and one to love…three treasons will you know…once for blood and once for gold and once for love…” I WILL destroy my betrayers, I swear it! The shadow binder warned me of those I needed to defeat before taking my throne. These prophecies MUST be linked. All I need to do is find and eliminate the pale mare, kraken, dark flame, lion, griffin, sun's son, the mummer's dragon and the perfumed seneschal. They’ll reveal themselves soon enough…Then I’m free to break the wheel in Westeros and everywhere else that needs liberation…_

“Your Grace? I kept knocking but you weren’t answering. Are you well?” Missandei looks at Daenerys quizzically. _The Queen is alone, she normally answers straight away when she’s by herself._

She smiles at Missandei with a small laugh, stretching her arms out. “I’m well…Better than well actually, I feel marvelous! I’m going to accept Quentyn Martell’s proposal, help me dress before we meet with him. I honestly couldn’t give a damn about him, he’s another Hizdahr zo Loraq but this is another step in solidifying my reign. I’ll sup with him and the Princess Arianne in my solar tonight, if you could let Tyrion and Varys know to join us please?”

“Very good, Your Grace.” She eyes the Queen’s garments strewn about the floor, gathering them up to wash when she begins examining their state. _She wore these less than a day ago._ Slightly dusty with gray ash, she holds them up to her nose, noting the lingering smoky scent. _Where did this come from? The Queen must have left after she retired to her chambers._ Looking down at her pile of clothes and recalling the Queen’s strangely cheerful demeanor this morning, a single tear threatens to trail down her cheek after leaving Daenerys’ chambers.

_Nothing ever came of my discussing the Queen’s behavior with Tyrion and Varys so it would be pointless to speak with them once more. The Queen is keeping yet_ another _thing from me. Why did she stop trusting me, trusting her small council? How long will it be before she realizes we are nothing more than acquaintances now? Before I give up on her, she deserves one more chance. Perhaps speaking with her nephew will bring about change…it’s for her own good._

 

***

Sansa gestures for her guest to sit before she takes to her chair. “I’m so pleased you found time to sit with me, Princess. I’ve been looking forward to getting better acquainted, not only personally but for our people.”

Arianne Martell flashes her hostess a genuine smile, touched by her words. “You’re very kind, Lady Sansa. Arianne is fine, no need for titles and formalities. Winterfell and Dorne may be on opposite ends of Westeros, but this time in Riverrun together may bring our ties closer. There is one subject I wish to broach before anything else is discussed.”

“Very well, Arianne. What is on your mind?”

She starts out slowly, waiting for Sansa to react. “I know you saw the way I looked at Jon at our first war council. Can you recall the manner in which I was clothed?”

Sansa smiles gently in recollection. “I do recall both of those things. What have you to say regarding them?”

Arianne searches Sansa’s eyes earnestly before starting. “While there are weak women who think their greatest power lies between their legs, I am not one of those women. While I typically prefer wearing more modest garments for state affairs, that was no typical meeting. So I adjusted my methods of information gathering for the sake of time. We are living in a time where every minute is precious, where each decision we make in that room is a matter of life or death. If we survive, the people in this castle will decide the future of Westeros. I chose to observe the measure of each man by how they interacted with me dressed as I was. Dorne will only treat with those who exemplify forbearance. Your husband is very much the honorable man he was rumored to be, as are most of the people that have your attentions: Lord Royce, Lord Reed, Lord Stark. The company you keep speaks volumes of your integrity, Lady Sansa. Please be at ease, I have no desire to meddle in your marriage, alliances or the North.”

Sansa reaches out for Arianne’s hand. “I am glad to hear it. I suspected as much. When I was held against my will by Cersei Lannister, she once told me a woman’s power is between her legs. She put that into practice rather crudely. So I’m familiar with what that type of weakness looks like. I hope you gathered the information you were hoping to find? As important as our war strategy is, one cannot help but plan ahead, what with having influential lords and ladies from every kingdom underneath one roof. We need the ability to dream beyond what feels like insurmountable odds. What is it you desire Arianne, either for yourself or Dorne?”

“I desire many things, Lady Sansa. What I desire, I always obtain at any cost. I suspect you do as well, if we’re being entirely forthcoming. Fighting the dead forces me to reevaluate what’s important. Your husband has integrity and clearly loves and respects you. For years I thought that sort of life was beyond me. The suitors my father arranged for me to meet were all aging men. Can you imagine Walder Frey asking for your hand in marriage? Father also refused every Dornishmen that asked for my hand. It was only until later did I discover he had long ago arranged my marriage to Viserys Targaryen, as well as my brother Quentyn’s marriage to Daenerys. With Viserys dead, I am free to rule Dorne while my brother is the Queen’s consort. Before I was a foolish, willful girl with a weakness for dark and dangerous men, playing at the game of thrones like a drunkard rolling dice. All I desire now is a match that suitable for me and my people. ”

Sansa claps her hands in delight, “I believe I can be of some assistance in that endeavor, Arianne. Your future betrothed would be as far from Walder Frey as a man can get, I assure you! If its possible, I would like to propose an idea of mine as well, something that would benefit the North and Dorne.”

She leans in with a “Lady Sansa, where you had all my attention earlier, now you have my curiosity as well! What can Dorne do for the North? Please leave nothing out!”

 

***

High Heart looms ahead of them, a steep, lonely hill surrounded by flat lands on all sides. Arya leads the way, grinning at Sansa and Jon behind her. A crown of weirwood stumps adorns the very top of the hill, the setting sun bathing the white tree trunks in a golden glow.

She is already waiting for them when they finally reach the summit. If she has a name, it is long forgotten. The Ghost of High Heart approaches them slowly, shuffling forward with a gnarled black cane to help her. Her pale face contrasts sharply with her red eyes, white hair flowing down to the ground. Sansa thinks she can no taller than three feet tall, less than half the size of Brienne.

Shoulders hunched over, she looks at Sansa. “Ah, giant slayer! You have finally come. You carry more than the fine linens on your back. Where you were radiant from without before, you are luminous from within now as well. As for you wolf child, blood child, I asked you to begone once yet here you are. I’ve been expecting you both.” 

Arya approaches her solemnly, “The Children of the Forest sent us to you. They say you have something we need, news that will help us with the coming war.”

She eyes the group gathered before her, calculating. “I will have a song for my news and a skin of wine for my dreams.”

“You will have your song from Podrick,” Jon promises, giving her the wineskin himself.

“Good.”

Podrick sings gently with feeling, the air clinging on his every word. 

_“High in the halls of the kings who are gone,_

_Jenny would dance with her ghosts…_

_The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,_

_and the ones who had loved her the most.”_

The Ghost of High Heart stares off into the distance, as she stands hypnotized until the song is over before muttering, “The old gods stir and will not let me sleep. I dreamt of a blue flower blooming in a wall of ice. It turned into a great sword. It fights death above bleeding trees. I saw a shadowy daughter, eye of red and clothed in gold flame. Together they defeat the thief of death, one needs the other like a seed needs soil. Beware the storm who rides the wind and brings tears of blood. It will cover the trembling earth if undefeated. All this I dreamt, and more.”

“Thank you, truly. We will use this information wisely. Now please, come with us. The Children will keep you safe. These lands aren’t safe anymore with the dead on the move.”

She looked at Arya, Sansa and Jon, considering their faces for a long while before an almost imperceptible nod. Bran was right, whatever they just heard, they needed to hear. As for making sense of it all, that would come with time. They would discern her meaning together. 

 

***

Arya plops down next to Tyrion and Jaime, who had chosen to sit in the dining hall with a pitcher of wine to keep them company. Tyrion is engrossed in the middle of a story about Podrick and his visit with the whores of King’s Landing. The subject somehow shifts to Tywin Lannister, prompting Arya’s memory.

“You know, I was actually your father’s cupbearer in Harrenhal during the war. He’d tell me stories about you lot, called me a sharp little thing. I’m positive he knew I was highborn and from the North but he never suspected it was me. If he only knew…”

Jaime’s jaw drops in shock, while Tyrion roars with laughter. “Oh the Gods have quite the sense of humor! What I wouldn’t give to see the look on Father’s face if he ever found out Arya Stark was under his nose the whole time. I almost wish I waited to kill him, at least until he found out!”

Arya snapped her fingers in realization. “That’s right! I saw this gods awful play in Braavos and the character that played you shot Tywin with a crossbow while he was taking a shit, did it really happen like that?”

Tyrion stares off into the distance, trying to avoid his brother’s eyes. “Sadly, yes. He was going to execute me! Varys helped me escape to Pentos,”

Arya leaned in, intrigued at the direction of their conversation and the shifting dynamic between brothers. “So why’d you do it? I mean I understand…You’re speaking to someone who thinks he got what he deserved. He was ruthless, clever, and calculated. I hated him for everything he did to my family, but in a strange way I also respected him. Does that make sense?”

Tyrion sighs deeply, “More than you know.”

Jaime suddenly recovers his voice, interjecting in the conversation, “Tell us more brother, I don’t think I’ve heard the long explanation yet.”

Tyrion stares into the distance, eyebrows furrowed. He pauses before beginning, slowly finding his words. “I didn’t mean to. All I really wanted was an explanation. As soon as Shae testified against me, I was certain Father had a major part in my trial. I wanted to hear him say it, that he finally found a way to get rid of me. That no matter how much he insisted I was a Lannister, he’d jump at the opportunity to kill me. I wasn’t expecting to find Shae in his bed that night. I also wouldn’t have killed her if she didn’t start to attack me with a knife. The sane part of me only wanted to render her unconscious. The part that took over that night killed her before I could think. It pushed me over the edge. Then the hypocrisy of him berating me for sleeping with whores, only for him to fuck the second woman in my life that I’ve ever loved and call her a whore to my face. I begged him to stop, but he kept saying it. The next few minutes were a haze. Before I realized it, I killed him.” 

He begins to pace the floor, muttering more to himself than anyone else. “His legacy was all he cared about. His children had to aspire to being smart, capable, disciplined so they can carry on the glorious Lannister dynasty… There is nothing we could’ve done to make that man pleased with us. We were a constant source of disappointment to him, me more than both of you combined. A drunken little lecher, he always called me.,.”

Jaime’s expression grew somber. “Tyrion…I need to tell you something. Before I say anything else, please forgive me for listening to Father. As much I hated Father for trying to rule every part of my life, part of me needed his approval…” 

He takes a deep breath, choosing not to look directly at Tyrion, lest he lose his nerve. Neither Lannister notices Arya slinking back towards the entrance, giving them privacy.

“She was no whore. I never bought her for you. That was a lie that Father commanded me to tell. Tysha is ... she is what she seemed to be. A crofter's daughter we met on the road by chance. Before he died, I asked Father where she went. All he said was, ‘where whores go.’ Please forgive me for not telling you sooner, it weighed on my heart for so long. There were so many times I wanted to tell you but when it came to Father, I was a coward. Pretending like I didn’t care about anything was the only way to arm myself against him. I’m so sorry.’”

“Leave me.” The words catch in Tyrion’s throat as he mutters them, tears welling in his eyes.

“Tyrion please—”

“LEAVE ME!” Tyrion roars in anger, slamming the jug of wine against the wall. “I need to be alone right now… There will be a time where I forgive you brother but it is not right now. If you love me, don’t say another word—just leave me.”

Jaime nods mutely, backing away with his head hung low. 

By the time he hears the door shut, Tyrion is openly sobbing. He remembers every word she ever told him. The way the light shone in her hair. The feeling in her voice when she confessed her feelings of him. _I love you, Tyrion. I love your lips. I love your voice, and the words you say to me, and how you treat me gentle. I love your face_.

The ache in his chest is unbearable. Mayhaps a year older than him, Tysha was beautiful: dark of hair, slender, with kind eyes and a delicate features. Lowborn, half-starved, unwashed ... yet lovely. The final time they coupled, he was the last in a long line of soldiers. She couldn’t look him in the eye for all the shame she felt. All she could do was gently whisper, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Her words took on a whole new meaning now. 

_Everything I became since then was a direct result of Father’s deception. I’d be lying to myself if I said part of my penchant for visiting brothels was because of what happened to Tysha. Would I have killed Father if I’d known she was truly a lowborn girl who loved me? Probably? It’s anyone’s guess. I would’ve found her and sailed away from Westeros. We would’ve been hopelessly destitute and always on the run of course but still, we’d be happy. We could’ve had children…. Father should’ve sued for peace instead of warring with Robb Stark. I wouldn’t have met Shae, wouldn’t need to marry Sansa, would’t need to defend myself at a trial. I wouldn't have gone to Essos, met Daenerys Targaryen, and been partly responsible for killing the majority of the Lannister army after the sacking of Highgarden. Not only am I a murderer, a kinslayer, but a complicit murderer as well. Varys is right. Daenerys is too unstable to rule. I’ve simply been too blinded by what I thought was love to see it. What Tysha and I had was_ real _love. Daenerys is simply incapable of it. Her love is selfish, jealous, distrustful and small minded. It blinds, isolates and it comes at a cost. And I’m definitely done paying._

 

***

 

“How are you, my Lady? I apologize for neglecting my duties as your sworn sword. I have been feeling unwell as of late. Ser Jaime has been tending to my illness.” 

Sansa smiles, noting new subtleties in her dear friend. Where before the knight seemed uneasy with a receiving a simple hug from her friend, now she welcomes it. _It is refreshing to Brienne comfortably clothed, without her armor. Her very demeanor seems unguarded, content._ “I am glad he is seeing you through it. How are things between you? It makes me happy that you’ve both confessed your feelings for each other.” 

A blush comes across Brienne’s face. “Truthfully, Lady Sansa, despite the imminent danger we face, this is the happiest I’ve been in my whole life. Years ago, I would have laughed if anyone told me I’d come to love the Kingslayer but that’s the truth. There’s more honor to him than what he says or does. He gave me Oathkeeper to protect you. He said his sword and mine were forged from your father’s greatsword at Tywin Lannister’s request. So it seems right that these swords are used to fight for your family. Forgive me Lady Sansa…”

She steps away to dry heave, a wave of nausea afflicting her before returning to their fireside chairs. 

Sansa cocks her head curiously. _Brienne is almost always in excellent health, this is unusual_. “Brienne, are you with child?”

The idea strikes Brienne like lightening, her mouth falling open in shock. “We’ve been careful as we’re not wed but that could very well be the case…” She starts slowly, “I’ve been more tired than normal, irritable, smelling things more strongly than before, now the nausea…” She mutters more to herself than anyone, “When did I last bleed?”

Quickly ruminating, Sansa snaps her fingers in recollection. “Last I remember we both shared a laugh about our moon blood starting and ending at the same time. That was around two weeks before the Battle of Winterfell. Have you bled since then?”

Brienne’s face reddens, calculating in her mind, “No, my Lady, I haven’t. And it’s been a little over a month now since the battle… I m-must speak with Ser Jaime about this if you’ll excuse me…”

Sansa nods delightedly, trying to smother her smile. “Of course, go on now!” 

She begins collecting the cutting of flowers she’d gathered from the Godswood, arranging them in a tall, elegant vase. Uncle Edmure gave it to her today, it was one of the few things her mother left behind before leaving for Winterfell. She snips at the stems, lost in thought. _Brienne and Jaime will make wonderful, if untraditional, parents._

She drops a flower as she’s about to place it in the vase, a fog clearing from her mind as the facts come to the forefront of her mind. _In the midst of planning, how could I forget my moon blood finished two weeks before the Battle of Winterfell? If it’s been a little over a month since the battle…that means I started coupling with Jon at the most fertile point in my cycle… Could I be with child? With the stress of battle, is it possible that I’m simply overdue? If I hold off telling Jon, even for just a short while, I’ll be more certain. He would be so disappointed if I told him I am when I’m not… I won’t do that to him, not when he’s so busy with battle plans…Oh please Gods, let it be so!_

 

_***_

Jon saunters into their chambers, giddy with lust and mischievous anticipation. After his own laborious meetings, he wants nothing more than to worship his wife’s body til his heart’s content. 

_My sweet girl. My Sansa. Always so eager, so playful and creative. Some men have beautiful wives, clever wives, talented wives, or prudent wives. Seems like most are one or two of those things. Yet she is ALL those things…and more! How could the Gods create such a person? It’s still hard to believe she is mine. If we survive this war, I’ll make sure she knows_ every single damn day _how much she means to me._

His thoughts are interrupted after locking the door behind him. Their quarters are unusually silent. Sansa likes to call out to him if she’s not in their solar. _Is she here? Mayhaps she’s asleep?_ She _has_ been prone to taking short naps as of late.  That’s when he spots them. The jade balls are sitting on the table top. He reaches out to touch them. _Still warm and wet. She certainly likes to flout my commands as blatantly as she can doesn’t she?_ He wanders into their bedchamber and begins to harden immediately.

Sansa is sprawled out on their bed, very far from sleep. Legs propped on the headboard, she ignores his presence, her fingers continuing their work on her swollen bud while she pinches a nipple, biting her lip to silence her moans. By her shallow, breathy moans, Jon knows she’s close to her peak. He rushes to their bedside, quickly undressing when he looks into her eyes. The mischief and daring in her gaze quickens his blood further.

_The minx WANTS to be caught! She knows the consequences of her actions and still wants to be punished… Very well then, best give the lady what she wants…_

He pulls her hand away from her folds, glaring sternly, “What were my orders naughty girl? How dare you defy your Lord Commander? If I was the one that deliberately disobeyed _you_ , what sort of discipline would you carry out? What sort of punishment would befit the crime?”

She lowers her head and grins, failing miserably at being remorseful. “I would smack your bottom ten times and make you apologize after each one. Then I’d demand your mouth on my folds until I was satisfied you learned your lesson.”

He smirks as he pulls up a chair and seats himself. “Very well, wife. Time for discipline.” Taking her hand, he carefully drapes her over his lap, savoring the succulent softness of her are between his fingers. He warms up each cheek before his hand meets her flesh with a decisive swat.

_SMACK._

“I’m sorry, Lord Commander!

_SMACK._

“I repent, My King!”

_SMACK._

“Apologies, my love!”

_SMACK._

“Forgive me, Jon oh Gods yes”

_SMACK._

“Forgive me, darling”

SMACK.

“I’m so sorry, Jon”

_SMACK._

_“Lord Commander, I apologize!”_

_SMACK._

_“Ughhhh I’m so close, Jon forgive me!”_

_SMACK._

_“My King, I’m clo—”_

_SMACK._

“I’m sorr-ohhhh!!”

 

He peels her off his lap, grinning at the slickness dripping down her thighs as she scrambles to her knees, eager for his cock. Before he can utter a single syllable, she engulfs his length ravenously. Sansa hums with delight at the taste of her arousal on his cock, eyes closed in pleasure, working her lips up and down his girth. _He feel so good in my mouth. I’m so close._

Jon exhales roughly, growling. “Eyes on ME, Sansa!”

She drags her mouth slowly down his length, tongue swirling around his bulbous tip when she finally opens her eyes. Their shared eye contact and her day-long state of arousal finally overwhelm her as she moans her peak onto his cock, feeling her slickness puddle down her legs. 

Jon bites his lip to stave off his release. Seeing her peak without his hands, mouth or fingers on her for the first time drives him to the point of madness. _As much I want to drench her breasts with my seed, I need to be inside her NOW!_

Sansa is still reeling from her peak before she realizes Jon has scooped her up and flung her on their bed to climb above her. 

He looks so achingly beautiful above her, his raven hair tousled and eyes aflame in desire, boring down on hers with urgency and hunger. She half expects him take her roughly then and there. Instead, he trails kisses up her neck, sucking her earlobe as he rubs her bud with his tip of his cock, lazily dipping down to plunge inside her and tease at her entrance until she starts to whimper impatiently.

“Jon please-”

“Please what, Sansa?”

“I need you, Jon”

“Beg me. Naughty girls don’t get what they want until they ask nicely.”

“Please Jon, I need you so badly!! Fill me up with your thick cock until I can’t think…”

He chuckles at her words, entering Sansa languorously until he’s fully sheathed inside her. 

If its possible to even become more aroused than she already is, Sansa smolders watching Jon enter her. He exhales deeply, eyes closed, smiling to himself as he revels in the feeling of her slick folds snugly clinging to him. 

Forehead to forehead, his pace quickens as she wraps her legs around his hips, urging him on and pulling him in as deep inside her as he can go.

Dragging her towards him, he slides off their bed still sheathed inside her as he stands at the edge, his pace fast and rough. She is _so_ close once more. She meets him thrust for thrust, her release teetering within reach. 

Jon stills inside her, groaning at the effort to restrain himself from moving. “Touch yourself.” He growls. “I need to see it my filthy girl…”

She bites her lip, her eyes fixed on his tantalizingly as her fingers trace around her bud and pinches it hard. It’s all she needs to send her the edge and she cries out in release, her walls rippling along his length in ecstasy, drawing him further inside.

Jon resumes his thrusts, languidly drawing them out to ride her release with her, cooing her praises between kissing her neck.

“I love your legs. I love your sweet mouth. I love when you straddle me. I love the way you look when you peak on my cock. I love your voice first thing in the morning. I love your face in my dreams…”

He holds her cheek in his hand, the glowing warmth in his eyes stoking a new, greater flame within her, “My love, I had a dream about us last night you know. In my dream you were with child. It felt so real… Then I realized it’s been over a month since we first made love. You should’ve bled by now if you aren’t with child. Am I right?” 

He stops, puzzled at range of emotions on her face.

Her face flushes with color. She starts cautiously, “You’re not wrong, my love… It _should_ have arrived by now. I’ve been more tired of late but I didn’t want to read too much into my symptoms and disappoint you.”

He plants kisses all over her face, eyes beginning to water in joy. “Oh sweet girl, my beautiful wife, no matter what happens you could _never_ disappoint me!! I love you so much Sansa…”

Jon reaches between them to thumb at her bud, determined to bring her to peak with him. Sansa bites the inside of her cheek, steadily climbing once more. She feels the swell of him inside as he grows thicker, his thrusts growing shallower. _Jon’s so beautiful. My husband. The father of my children. Who wouldn’t want to make babies with him? Make him_ yours _Sansa._

The thought is all she needs to pull him down and clamp onto his neck, sucking and savoring the taste of his skin on her tongue. He erupts inside her and it sends her reeling over the brink into another peak. She clings to him, waves of ecstasy overwhelming her senses. Jon groans, holding her hips tightly against him as he gushes inside her, burying himself in her sultry depths.

He climbs onto their bed once more, gathering her in his arms to stroke her belly. She stretches with a yawn, looking up at him with a smile. “Tradition says there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, you promise to help me fill the nursery, my King?”

Jon laughs, stroking her hair. “I don’t need to promise, my love. I’ll guarantee it!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we’re finally here: the penultimate chapter of Act Two. As such, you might have noticed there is now an official chapter count. However, it might still change! Still working out the kinks, figuratively and literally… The third and final act will feature the War for the Dawn, the ensuing aftermath (including the resolution of the Great Game) and an epilogue.
> 
> Thank you for your patience in waiting, I appreciate it! These past couple months have been a particularly busy season for me with no signs of stopping. I passed my audition, which means vocal lessons and biweekly rehearsals, plus school and internship, tests… oh my! That means writing this is officially my time to unwind, so bear with me as we reach the end of this story. As my first fic and the longest non-school piece I’ve written for creative pleasure, I am dedicated to finishing this story so worry dearest readers! Seven Blessings, WQKBF


	12. Hear Me Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei fights her own battle at Dragonstone. The Starks figure out Lightbringer.

 

_... "I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her._

_"Aye." Maggy’s yellow eyes gleamed with knowing. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear.”_

_... "Will the king and I have children?" she asked._

_"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you.”_

_The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you.”_

Cersei bolted up from her bed, holding her throat and gasping for breath. _How many times will I dream of this!?!_ Her thought was sidetracked by a sharp pain coming from her lower back. She rips the linens away, wailing at the sight. Her nightrail and bed are spotted with bright red blood. _No. No. No!!_

She screeches, “Ser Gregor, get Qyburn. Now!!!”

Qyburn arrives quickly, awake despite the late hour. 

“Your Grace, permit me to examine you. From there we can determine the course of action.”

He rinses his hands before probing her womb with fingers, feeling around the damage. He withdraws as clotted blood streaked with pinkish white mucus cling to his fingers. _This is very bad. She’s done everything I prescribed: a diet of meats, fowl, staying away from salty foods, drinking water mixed with wine and fruits. She stayed away from sun and hasn’t bathed as often. The midwife we’ve captured from Claw Isle has kept detailed records of all her bodily functions but it’s all been for naught. She’s going to lose the baby._

“Your Grace, have you had anything resembling birthing pains? Or contractions of the womb similar to the pain of a woman’s moon blood?

She pauses, stifling her emotions to focus on a patch of wall until a numbness washes over her. “I’d say more lower back pains than anything. Nothing resembling sharp birthing contractions but the dull pains of moon blood. I’ve felt it with all my children and thought nothing of it…”

She lays on the bed defeated, allowing her thoughts to torment her while a steady trickle of blood becomes a stream between her thighs. _Jaime failed me. He couldn’t even give me one last healthy child. Our babe was the last hope and future of House Lannister. After everything I did to protect him, Tommen betrayed me. Tyrion the horrid little beast killed Mother, Father, Joffrey and Myrcella. Sent my only daughter off to her death. Everyone I’ve ever loved has left me to fend for myself. I’ve done well enough without them because_ someone _had to practice every lesson Father taught. That’s the difference between myself and the orphan beggar queen with her savages, eunuchs and kinslaying miscreants. The prophecy IS wrong. This isn’t my end._

The look on Qyburn’s face tells her what he cannot at the moment. _The babe is lost._ Her body is betraying with her with every emotion she’s been holding back. Heart ripped to shreds within her and caught in her throat, fingers trembling with grief. She dare not stand or she will fall. She needs to numb the pain. The rage will come later. She’ll use it to her advantage, like Father would. _Lord Tywin with teats indeed._

She tries to breathe deep but manages a shallow ragged breath. “What must be done now?”

Qyburn chooses his words carefully. _The Queen’s health is at a crossroads. This next procedurewill be difficult and her state of mind is more important than ever._

_“_ Your Grace, when you are ready to begin, we will start by massaging your lower half while you push. The babe must be evacuated promptly and safely, so as not to endanger your life in the process. I’ll retrieve any necessary instruments from my quarters and return shortly.” 

“I will on one condition. I want to _see_ it. I _need_ to see this child before you get rid of it.”

He bows low and with a quiet knock of the door’s close, Cersei places her hand on her womb, tears escaping her eyes, feeling more alone than she’s ever been in her life.

***

Jon frowned as he looked at the crackling logs, pacing the patch of stone beside the warm hearth. Turning to face his family, he laid out several pieces of parchment and began to speak.

“I’ve a letter from Sam with events in time he wanted Bran to review. Sam took a book from the Citadel about ancient prophecies from Asshai. There is one about a man who went by the name Azor Ahai. He will be reborn again as a champion sent by the Red God. Scrolls from the Citadel corroborate this prophecy. It will occur after a long summer when an evil, cold darkness descends upon the world. It is said that wielding Lightbringer once again, Azor Ahai will stand against the darkness and if he fails, the world fails with him. This cold darkness sounds like the Long Night. This prophecy could very well substantiate the prophecy we heard from the Ghost of High Heart. She spoke of a flower turning into a sword, bleeding trees, a shadowy daughter clothed in gold flame. Any ideas on what this all could mean?

Bran took Meera’s hand in his before facing his brother. “Jon, the blue flower blooming in a wall of ice is you. Meera asked me to review the Tourney at Harrenhal where I saw your father give your mother a crown of winter roses when he named her queen of love and beauty. The blue rose turned into sword at the wall, because although you trained at Winterfell, you truly became a warrior during your time at Castle Black.”

Sansa chimes in. “The bleeding trees are weirwoods. The only weirwoods in the south, besides the one here, are the ones on the Isle of Faces. That has to be it. At some point in battle you’ll be in the God’s Eye.”

Arya looks up from the scrolls Jon offered them. “What of the shadowy daughter? Or the storm who rides the wind? Are they people or objects? Or both?”

“Perhaps the shadowy daughter is Lightbringer?” Gendry wipes his forehead, worn from spending all day in the smithy. “Did Sam say anything about what Lightbringer is or what it looks like?”

“Sam seems to think Lightbringer is a sword. The text speaks of wielding it.” Jon sits at the head of the table, pinching the bridge of his nose and recalling the details. “The Lightbringer of Azor Ahai times was a sword of living fire, forged thrice. Once in water but it broke, then through a lion’s heart where it broke again. Lastly, it was driven into the heart of Azor Ahai’s wife where it came out aflame and glowing. He also copied the instructions needed to forge Valyrian steel. Perhaps an existing sword needs to be reforged? What did you gather from the times you reviewed Bran? What do you think of these prophecies?”

Bran furrowed his brow, searching for the words to explain. “Prophecies are a double edge sword. They may not be literal, or symbolic, or even in the order you think they are. Looking back, I saw prophecies come true in unexpected ways. Essentially, the more you try to avoid them or the more you let a prophecy take hold over your life, the more inevitable they can become. The Three Eyed Raven before me, Brynden Rivers, was ruthless in his reign as Hand of the King so as to ensure a prophecy came to pass. The Mad King was forced to marry his sister because a witch said the Prince Who Was Promised would come from their line. Rhaegar Targaryen was obsessed with the very same prophecy. He thought he was Azor Ahai and that his three children together would be Lightbringer. Rhaegar changed the course of his life because of prophecy he read, and what he thought his role was in the prophecy. All these people’s actions tore the kingdoms apart. While it’s true that their actions might’ve sought to protect the realm and prepare for the oncoming darkness, but at what cost? Do the ends justify the means if something is inevitable? It seems to me one should be informed on prophecy, but not let the prophecy solely inform their decision making. In the end, whether the prophecy is known or not, if certain events are meant to happen, it will happen through one person or another.” 

Jon nods sagely, confessing, “I’ll admit when the Ghost of High Heart mentioned a red sword, it reminded me of a dream I once had back at Castle Black. I was fighting the dead with a sword that burnt red. Reading about Lightbringer brought me back to that dream. Truly, I don’t need or want to be the Prince that was Promised. Master Aemon once told me, ‘Knowledge is a weapon, Jon. Arm yourself well before you ride forth to battle.’ Bran said we needed to know the Ghost of High Heart’s words and that’s as far as I’ll go with that. The only thing I need to know from these prophecies is how to kill the Night King. It seems Lightbringer is the way, but I absolutely refuse to kill my wife.”

Sansa stands up, eyes wide in realization. “Jon! What if its Ice?”

Arya answers for him, head cocked in curiosity. “How do you suppose?”

She circles the table, working it out as she speaks. “What if the process wasn’t literal? Father’s sword Ice was the first forging, frozen water. Brienne told me that Tywin Lannister had it reforged and made into two swords for Joffrey and Jaime Lannister. House Lannister has been without its ancestral sword since Brightroar was lost. Having restored Valryian steel to his house sounds like something Tywin would have wanted as his legacy. It was forged a second time from the heart of a lion.”

Jon nods while mulling over the facts. “And the last forging?”

Gendry jumps out his chair, an epiphany written all over his features. “Hold on Lady Sansa, I think I know where this is going. Hear me out. Before the Red Woman tried to kill me, she tried to seduce me.”

“I’d rather not hear this story, Gendry.” Arya rolls her eyes with a quick huff. “Not when she’s within reach and I’ve just sharpened my dagger…”

A quick smirk flashes between them before he resumes. “Listen! She wanted my blood but she first went to the lengths of getting me comfortable so I didn’t know what she meant to do. If that’s how blood magic works, will that work for the sword? If it’s a sword of living fire, with the heart of Azor Ahai’s wife, there must be a way to capture that essence in blood without anyone dying. My master was the one that Tywin sought to reforge your father’s sword. Which meant I was the one who actually did it. I didn’t know it belonged to your family. Allow me to reforge Ice and right what’s wrong.” 

Jon pauses, mind racing towards logistics. “If Ice is indeed Lightbringer, it needs to be reforged with dragonfire. I’m sure I can ask Rhaegal to lend some flames to our cause. Dragons, well at least Rhaegal, seem to know what direction I want to go when we’re flying, almost as if he can read my mind. Must be the Targaryen in me…” 

“I wouldn’t doubt it. Like the blood of the First Men carries green dreams, the blood of Valyria carries dragon dreams.” Arya says wistfully, “Maybe that connection of minds is the key to dragon riding? The passage I read on Visenya Targaryen and Vhagar supposed as much.”

Bran wheels himself out of place to face his sister. “Now that you mention it Arya, Meera and I want to share something with you.” Meera squeezes Bran’s hand lovingly, a shy smile on her face as she looked at him questioningly. He gently nods back to her, love evident in his eyes.

She starts out slowly. “When we fled the Three Eyed Raven’s cave beyond the Wall, I grabbed an old sword that was lying around. I suspected it was Valyrian steel so I kept it after returning to Greywater Watch and brought it with me here. When he saw it again, Bran knew that Brynden Rivers, the Three Eyed Raven, brought it with him from King’s Landing. He went back into Brynden’s past before Castle Black and discovered this sword is in fact, Dark Sister, Visenya Targaryen’s sword. We’d like you to have it.”

Arya’s jaw drops. “Bran… Meera… what else can I say but—” 

Maester Vyman walks in, unaware of the moment between siblings. “Apologies, Lord Jon, Lady Sansa, are you able to receive the Greyjoys? The Queen appears to be indisposed and they’ve just arrived.” 

Sansa gasps audibly, “Certainly, send them in!”

Jon immediately strides over to Theon, clutching him in a tight embrace. One glance into his eyes tells Jon everything he needs to know. _Our Theon is back. He’s found both his Greyjoy and his Stark._ He withdraws, gently urging him over to Sansa’s welcoming arms before heartily shaking Yara Greyjoy’s hand. 

Theon bows low before them. “Lady Sansa, I present my sister Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands. Our bannermen will arrive shortly. We’ve been riding hard since landfall to avoid the Night King and his dragon.”

“Where is the Night King?” Yara glances between them, looking worn from travel. “Samwell Tarly at Winterfell wrote the Night King had a dragon that he took south and we weren’t taking any chances, especially when we passed Fairmarket. It’s destroyed. Heaps of rock, ash and little more. Nothing I’ve ever seen could cause that sort of destruction except dragonfire. Saw it for myself before Theon and I left Meereen with Daenerys. We’ve been on the move to get within castle walls as quickly as possible.”

Jon looks at Sansa perplexed before replying. “We’re not aware of what you saw at Fairmarket. Bran’s kept a close eye on the Night King’s movements. He’s moving north from King’s Landing but his army is fenced in by water and fire. His army is less than a day from reaching Riverrun. If he decided to fly this close north of us, we’d know it.”

Yara raises an eyebrow at this news, confused. “All I know is I know dragonfire when I see it.” 

“What are you suggesting?” Sansa stands shocked at her words, her mind racing.

She shrugs indifferently. “Nothing right now. We sent our fleet ahead of us. As fast as the Iron Fleet sails, it might take more than a day before they reach Blackwater Bay. As long as the vanguard can hold the front, they won’t see us coming from behind.”

“Excellent. Rest for now and we’ll discuss this further at our war council. The Night King is almost here and there isn’t a moment to waste.”

 

***

Qyburn shudders and adjusts his robes to stave off the cold. Dragonstone had grown more bleak as of late. A thick, impenetrable fog had engulfed the island, making it impossible to see beyond its shores. The Queen ceased sending soldiers to scout nearby villages awhile ago, but if he had to guess, the Army of the Dead must be gathering to strike the mainland soon.

He can still hear the Queen’s roars in his mind’s ear. _MONSTER! Get that beast away from me! That is no child of mine! Take it away!!!_ Walking over to the nearest glass jar, he taps on glass, watching the child float, suspended in the clear, green liquid. _Who would’ve known that the Queen and her twin brother, two people of beauty, would produce something so… grotesque? If the Queen didn’t hate her brother so openly, one might’ve assumed the half man was the father, what with its shrunken limbs and large head. Surely if its happened twice in one family, it must be inherited… Pity. If she doesn’t survive, this new specimen will be an excellent addition to my collection. Perhaps I can improve on the methods I used on Ser Gregor. If she saw the child and neglected to say what to do with it, I doubt she would mind if I keep it for my studies?_

Anyhow, without any way to leave or send for help, there was little more he could do then wait for the Queen’s symptoms to abate. _I’ve done everything I can do. All that’s left for her to do to isto fight through her illness. I should have seen this coming. Racing heartbeat. White tongue. Fever, night sweats, abdominal pain, nausea and painful urination. Puerperal fever set in rapidly after the Queen’s miscarriage. Only time will tell. If her fever breaks overnight, she’ll survive. I hope I removed all the dead tissue causing the fever. Then we can find someway to escape to Essos to ride out the massacre of Westeros. If she doesn’t survive, there must surely be somewhere where my skills could prove useful._

***

With the Night King fast approaching, the mood in the dining hall was somber until Tormund, the free folk and the Crannogmen began livening up the place with games and drink. In typical fashion, a crowd began to gather around Tormund and with that came his favorite battle stories and tales of his bear lover. He had taken a liking to Podrick, handing him a horn full of ale and making sure he kept up the pace. As Tormund got further in his cups and forgot, Bronn was quick to refill his horn.

Gathered in small groups, it was unspoken between them that for this might be the last time they enjoy each other’s company before battle. And for some, it might be their last feast. So lords and ladies danced with small folk, free folk danced with Crannogmen and people forgot their cares for the time being.

Except for one. 

Sansa pulls up a chair next to the Queen’s trusted advisor. Daenerys had stormed off five minutes prior, apparently frustrated with the night’s festivities. What made tonight unusual was that Missandei chose to stay behind rather than make for the Queen’s chambers to console her. The look on her face tugged at Sansa’s heart and before she knew it, she is sitting beside the kind woman. “Lady Missandei, are you well? You seem out of sorts, is there anything on your mind I can help you with?”

She gives Sansa a half hearted smile. “I wish I could say everything is well Lady Sansa, but truthfully, my heart is in conflict with itself. I care deeply for the Queen, she’s been a dear friend since our first meeting but she’s changed so much since we arrived in Westeros.Her mind is preoccupied with things she refuses to share. Where we once spoke privately in confidence, she isolates herself and chooses to remain silent, as is her right of course, but all I wish is for us to be as close as we were.” 

She looks around before leaning in to whisper, “Her behavior since the Battle of Winterfell is erratic and self destructive. I’ve mentioned this to the Hand of the Queen and the Master of Whispers several times but my pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Your husband once asked me if I decided to leave, would the Queen let me?I said yes without hesitation. Now, truthfully, I want to leave my position but I’m not positive she would allow it. I’ll stay to defend the living against the dead but if we survive, I want to return to Essos.” 

Her eyes begin to well up with tears. “I feel like a terrible friend for wanting to leave her when she is like this. What can be done to help her?”

Sansa places her hand on Missandei’s, offering her a handkerchief before mulling over the words she finds. “That’s understandable, you want to see your friend free from the thoughts that are plaguing her.From the few conversations we’ve had, it’s plain to see that you are an intelligent, compassionate and wise person. It’s beautiful that you would want to stay here for your friend. If this has been discussed amongst you, Tyrion and Varys without the desired outcome, it may be time for us to get involved. I do not know her or you well enough to advise you on a course of action but from the history you share, it sounds like you and the Queen have a friendship of equals rather than just a servant and monarch. So based off of that conclusion, what if the situation is reversed? If you were the Queen and she the adviser, would you bless her departure? You don’t need to answer the question but consider it when you make your decision. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, you truly care about Daenerys and it must be very disheartening to see her this way.”

“It truly is Lady Sansa.” She lets out a ragged breath. “There is so much ahead of her on the way to the Iron Throne that it pains me to consider leaving but at some point, one must cease trying to support those who do not want to be supported. I still mourn for Grey Worm and she hasn’t mentioned his name since Winterfell. I choose to think I knew him well enough to know he would want me to make a life for myself after him. A life where I have the possibility of living a free life, a life with love. For all she’s accomplished, I’m beginning to think that sort of life doesn’t include living with Daenerys Targaryen.”

Sansa smothers her reaction to this news. _Agenda aside, I never imagined Missandei’s feelings towards her Queen cooled as they have._ Struggling to find something positive to say for the sake of Daenerys’s friend, she hopes her words come across more as an impartial observer than someone who clearly dislikes the Dragon Queen. “Daenerys has accomplished much for someone so young. Confidence in oneself is essential to carrying out these things. However, she must tread carefully as her faith in herself could possibly blind her any possible crimes she might commit. Ruling Essos and ruling Westeros are two very different things. She must account for the cultural and historical differences if she is to rule wisely. There is a fine line between eliminating tyranny and becoming the tyrant oneself. Please understand that I say this from a place of wanting the best for my homeland and not as a slight against Daenerys.”

“I know what you mean. It’s all true. She’s been toying with that fine line for awhile now and no one seems to show her the error of her ways. Thank you for listening, Lady Sansa. We haven’t had more than a handful of conversations but you’ve been this kindest person I’ve met in Westeros. I couldn’t fully convey my happiness at your marriage to the Queen’s nephew but I know both of you are capable and just leaders. It’s no wonder you both inspire such loyalty. And you did it without dragons!”

“You are too kind, Lady Missandei. I hope you a little better having this conversation. I’ll be sure to discuss this with Jon and find a way to address this issue. Now go and enjoy yourself before the battle starts! I know Lady Lyanna and Lady Allyria have both been keen to spend some time with you!”

Encouraged by her warmth, Missandei makes her way to celebrate with Lyanna Mormont, who was seated by Tormund and Jon, about to spin his tale about being a husband to bears.

 

***

Despite the fact that there was still much to do to prepare for the Night King’s army, Jon found himself in need of alone time with Sansa. The plans put in place before they left Winterfell were completed, Ser Garth Hightower and Lord Royce trained the smallfolk as soldiers the best they could with what little time they had. Weapons were in place for Viserion. All that was left was to carry out the plan they had developed from the Ghost of High Heart’s prophecy. Jon took his leave during the feast to discuss Lightbringer with the servants of the Red God while Sansa sat with Missandei. They reunited in their chambers, eager to get away from the revelry and noise. 

Contemplating how to approach his latest revelation, Jon settles on his favorite activity, giving Sansa pleasure, before speaking up.

Jon trails kisses down her neck as he thrusts into her, savoring her snug warmth clinging to him with every stroke. Despite her last release, Sansa finds herself steadily climbing toward her next peak under Jon’s expert hands, reaching between them to rub her eager bud. Where the latter was born from need, this next release is unhurried, both of them luxuriating in the simple act of expressing their love by worshipping each other with their bodies.

She reaches up to stroke his beard in amusement. “So it seems I missed a great deal in your conversation with Moqorro and Melisandre in my absence. Help me understand this blood magic. To make a sword of living fire without killing anyone, namely me, I must be in a condition where my mind is overwhelmed with a single, dominating emotion, namely love, that is powerful enough to be sustained in perpetuity inside a sword. While I’m in that state, and only in that state, my blood must be extracted from me. In some insane way it makes sense but will that be enough? What of the babe?” 

He clasps her hand in assurance, kissing her fingers. “I asked. The babe will be completely unharmed. Melisandre suggested their attendance in our lovemaking, which I immediately declined.”

Sansa rolls her eyes and smirks at him. “Wise decision. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to join us if what Arya says about her is true…”

“Aye it is. She tried to seduce me at Castle Black as well.” He shudders at the memory.

Sansa’s eyes simmer with a flash of contained fury…“And yet another reason for me to feed her to Nymeria… What a wretched woman…”

Jon nods with a sigh. “As wretched as that woman is, she _did_ mention something back then that might help us. She said there’s power in king’s blood. She sensed it in me before I found out I was Rhaegar’s son. Perhaps adding my blood as well will help forge the sword. It was Nissa Nissa’s self sacrifice that made Lightbringer what it was. Much can be said for Azor Ahai but I doubt the history books called him an arse so I’ll say it instead. Nothing, not even the end of the realm, would convince me to plunge a sword in your heart. You are my everything. Our child is my everything. Our love captured in blood is the only sacrifice we’ll be making. It _will_ work, I cannot say how or why but I just _know_ it will…”

She grins, thrusting up at him to urge him to move.“My love, you always know exactly what to say. I trust you, always. So we make for the smithy after we finish?”

“That’s right. Gendry is removing the hilt and pommel off both swords right now. I know I shouldn’t be surprised anymore but Rhaegal understood my request and is close by. Melisandre and Moqorro are preparing for the spells they need. All that’s left is… our, um, contribution,” he says sheepishly, reddening.

Sansa raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Contribution, eh? My husband, ever the diplomat… I carry your babe inside me. You’re as deep and full inside me as you can get and yet, you’re blushing like a greenboy? Just when I think I can’t adore you enough…” 

He preens, delighting in this new facet of their love life. “It’s just…I can honestly say when I first saw the white walkers, I never expected victory and the fate of all life to hinge on our lovemaking…”

She wraps her legs around his waist, urging him to speed up. “When you put it that way, it sounds like we should do something extra special tonight…”

He strokes her hair. “What do you have in mind?”

Eyes closed in bliss as his fingers run through her hair, she tries to focus. “I’m not sure. I love ALL our games but there’s still so much I don’t know. Instruct me Lord Commander… but we must be quiet. If all the men overhear our private lessons in your chambers, the whole Night’s Watch will surely be in an uproar!”

He chuckles, flipping her above him. “You really enjoy _that_ particular game don’t you?”

It’s her turn to blush, avoiding his eyes. “I do…as conflicted as I was before discovering you weren’t my brother, it didn’t stop me fantasizing about coupling with you. That first night at Castle Black, I slept in your fur cloak. Finally feeling safe and wrapped in a cloak that smelled like you was one of the best night’s sleep in my life…”

Jon traces his finger on her bottom lip, mesmerized. “When I first saw you at Castle Black, I couldn’t stop staring at you. I _know_ you caught me staring, but I didn’t care. I just couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, well, are. I’ll never forget the way your red hair shone in the firelight, how luminous your face looked, and the faintest pink in your cheeks…”

Sansa reminisces with a coy smile. “I _did_ notice the way you looked at me. But I was so wrapped up in my own feelings, it never crossed my mind you felt the same way. I couldn’t imagine how the handsome boy with the raven curls became this solemn, devastatingly gorgeous man. After everything I went through, the way you laughed after I drank that terrible Night’s Watch ale…the way you smiled when you looked at me…I _lived_ to bring out those small smiles. Then I couldn’t help but flirt with you a little…” She could feel him twitch and grow even harder within her with every word.

Jon begins to suck kisses onto her neck, fingers trailing down to the apex of her thighs. _She’s close._ “Part of me wanted to think you did. The other part was telling me I was crazy and a damned fool to be thinking of you like that. You have no idea how many times I relived that moment you wet your lips and ordered me only with your eyes… When you said you’d take Winterfell by yourself with pure fire, so fierce and strong…I just….You were written on my heart decades ago, but that moment rekindled everything. I knew then I’d die loving you to my last breath.”

She moans breathlessly, panting above him before screaming out her pleasure, release washing over her in wave after wave of ecstasy. He gathers her in his arms, brushing a lock of her hair away from her face before cupping her cheek and bringing her lips to his before erupting within her, his seed gushing far into her warm depths. No matter where they are or what games they play, the plushness of her lips and little mews of pleasure never cease to drive him into a frenzy, stoking the heat of the eternal flame he carries for his bride. 

_Forget Lightbringer, forget the prophecy, forget the war. It’s all for her. It’s always been for her._

 

***

Gendry pours the molten hot Valyrian steel into the massive mold. Rhaegal had reduced it to liquid in a matter of seconds. Melisandre and Moqorro chanted their spells, retreating to the background so Jon and Sansa could fulfill their part. 

They nod in Arya’s direction, waiting for her to come forward. She ties Jon and Sansa’s hands together with a clean piece of cloth, leaving enough room for her dagger. She guides Sansa’s hand to the dagger and takes her place beside Gendry.

_Here we are._ Clasped hands above the sword, they look into each others eyes.Jon gazes into Sansa’s face, adoring and awed by the woman who could very well save all of Westeros with one swipe of a dagger. She smiles back at him and whispers, “For you. For us. For our babe. For the future.” Their lips join and dance along each others, as Jon and Sansa pour every bit of love, passion, trust and hope for the future into their kiss. 

With a firm and clean slash against their palms, Sansa and Jon drip their blood from the hilt to tip of the newly reforged Ice. Alow thrum emanates from the sword as a gush of wind swirls around them. Gendry looks down at the sword and nods. “I think it worked. It looks like I’ll be able to finish forging it and it should be ready by morning. What would you like on the cross guard?”

Jon and Sansa look to each other with a smile, knowing precisely what it should say as they speak in unison.

“Winter is Coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Disclaimer: The picture of Jon and Sansa on this chapter’s mood board is not mine. I’m not sure who to give credit to but if someone does, please let me know! I found it by literally typing jonsa on pinterest (pin by makebeliever).   
> *Fun fact: Qyburn's pregnancy recommendations for Cersei were common practices among pregnant women in Medieval times!  
> *Another fun fact: Bran's POV on prophecy is paraphrased for GRRM's opinions on prophecy.
> 
> A/N: I hope all of you are well, life has been busy but fun! My debut on stage is in less than 6 weeks, I’m almost done with the semester and I’m planning a carnival for at least 1K guests for NYE! Writing for you is my “Me Time” so wish plenty of me time before the year ends please :) I’m so excited to write the War for the Dawn, my plan’s been in place since the S8 finale and to finally flesh it out for you guys to read is surreal… Love you guys, be well until then! XOXO, WQKBF


	13. Valar Morghulis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations, explanations and declarations mere hours before the War for the Dawn!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The black leather strappy corselet described in this chapter is the one Sansa wears in the center picture with Jon and Daenerys. Picture that :)

 

Nothing Arya does can shake the feeling that she’s being watched. Leaving Dark Sister safely hidden, she now carries Needle and the valyrian steel dagger every time she walks the halls of Riverrun. Gendry rarely leaves her side, more for his peace of mind than hers but with the army of the dead fast approaching, he’s spending more and more of his time overseeing the completion of their forged armaments. 

That split second of time her mind dwells on Gendry is enough for a seemingly invisible pair of hands to place a burlap sack over her head and drag into the nearest room. In the flash of time that passes while she rips off the covering, dagger in hand, she hears footsteps walk away from her. 

_Strange_.

Dagger at the ready, she finds herself face to face with the same man in Northern clothes she met in the hallways. Before she can say anything, he tears off his face to reveal someone she knows all too well. 

“Jaqen! Why are you here?”

He approaches with his usual calm and measured demeanor. “It appears a man is out of time and so must now explain the assignment. The servants of the Many Faced God and the Iron Bank have a history of working together.A girl was chosen to be trained in the ways of the Faceless Men as a result of the events in King’s Landing and the North. The death of the first Hand, the death of the King and the execution of a girl’s father began a series of events. The Iron Bank protects its investments and the Faceless Men protect the balance of life and death. The House of Black and White received reports of the undead army in the North. The undead are an affront and the Faceless Men will not allow any more deaths to be stolen from the Many Faced God. So a man was sent all over Westeros to do the work of the Many Faced God. A man convinced a girl to train for this very moment. A girl’s assignment is this: the dragons will serve their purpose then must be sacrificed. A man will be on the battlefield to kill the ice dragon. Once this is done, the living ones must be sacrificed.”

“My brother Jon is riding one of the dragons, what of him?”

“A man follows the instruction of the Iron Bank but cannot guarantee the man’s life. A girl can try yet a dragon’s death takes precedence. The Many Faced God demands a sacrifice for life to continue, one way or another.”

Jaqen looks outside before leaving through the window, disappearing as quickly as he arrived. A raven perches itself on the windowsill, cocking its head at Arya. She sees the quick flutter of its eyes glaze white before returning to normal and immediately she knows who it is.

“Bran, find Jon and Sansa. Have them meet me in their solar as soon as possible. It’s urgent.”

***

Upon hearing the army of the dead’s latest movements, the southern lords and ladies gather to review the battle strategy. With soldiers already dispersed to their positions, this meeting would be the last before the overseeing lords and officers depart for their stations.Jon raises his hand to silence the group, noting the solemn atmosphere. _Our plans_ will _work. They cannot lose heart now._

His voice reverberates with his faith in their plan, soothing their nerves with every word. 

“Before we lay out our plan of action for the final time, I must say this: _when_ , not if, we claim victory over the dead, let this be a reminder that peaceable relations between all regions of Westeros and beyond are possible. In coming together to strategize, apply our strengths and fortify our weaknesses, you have proven to each other that you are all capable of seeing past old squabbles and do what is right to survive. Nothing else matters now except creating a peaceful future for those who come after us, and for those who come after them. Nay, for as long as men draw breath!!” 

Lord Connington and Lord Royce roar in agreement, leading the roomful of applause. “Here here! Well said, Prince Jon.”

He grins quickly before meeting Daenerys’s glare at the mention of succession. “Aye well it’s the truth, except that I’m not a prince.” He clears his throat. “Let us focus on our plan right now. Lord Howland Reed will oversee the forces east of the God’s Eye, Captain Strickland leads south of it, Commander Red Flea of the Unsullied leads the north and Ser Harras Harlaw, sworn to the Greyjoys oversees the Iron Fleet west of the God’s Eye. Vale, Riverlands, North, Westerlands and Daenerys’s armies as well as the Hill Tribes Tyrion recruited are defending the boundaries of the Red Fork and Green Fork. The Reach, Stormlands, Dorne, Fiery Hand and Golden Company are holding ground from Blackwater Rush to the mountains. Bran will have ravens posted at each stronghold and ship for him to see through and communicate back to Riverrun as well as to each army. Each army has a shorthand list of what Bran’s signals mean. They will adjust their strategies accordingly. Maester Vyman, please update us on all our weaponry before each side explain their defensive and offensive strategies?

The maester bows to Jon before addressing the room, “Of course milord. Much like the Battle of Winterfell, our armies will utilize dragon glass arrow ballistas and flaming catapults, mostly aiming downwards to support ground tactics while the dragons continue aerial assaults and dodging the walker’s ice spears. There are enough valyrian steel arrowheads for each ballista to shoot for the ice dragon five times. Use them sparingly. The only time the ballistas will launch valyrian arrowheads is when Viserion is clearly within aim. We cannot risk killing Drogon and Rhaegal only to give the Night King more dragons to slaughter us with. The last shipment of dragonglass weapons and shields arrived from Winterfell three days ago and are already distributed to each army. The forges here have also finished processing the raw dragonglass into weaponry. Every pot of wildfire was placed within the battlefield last week before the wights arrived. The growing cold has thickened and temporarily stabilized the liquid wildfire until it is ready to be used. The additional fire barriers within the battlefield are tarred and ready to light. Lord Royce will answer any questions after he finishes discussing our last strategies.” 

Yohn Royce nods at Vyman, noting the shift in demeanor amongst those listening. _Their confidence in this plan will translate well on the battlefield._

“The battlefield is barricaded in either by river or the fire barriers we’ve created in the mountains. Harrenhal, Acorn Hall and High Heart are equipped to be our strongholds within the battleground. Soldiers are already stationed in the strongholds and protected with fire barriers. While we distract the dead by engaging them north of Riverrun, the dragons will create a temporary fire barrier so that the Dothraki and Unsullied are able to quickly establish a wood barrier along the Kingsroad, essentially cutting the battle field in half. Meanwhile, the Iron Fleet will sail from Blackwater Rush up the tributaries near Stony Sept and the God’s Eye to rain down flaming arrows on both sides. The Stark and Targaryen ships will follow suit all along the Red Fork. No one is to disembark from the ships until Harrenhal gives the signal. Brandon Stark’s ravens will fly around to confirm all the wildfire was used before giving Harrenhal the signal. That is when we switch from defensive to offensive tactics by recreating the Battle of the Bastards. The Unsullied, the Golden Company, the Knights of the Vale and the Fiery Hand will encircle the remaining wights and walkers around the God’s Eye and push them in the lake while stabbing them with the dragonglass spears. The last threats remaining are the Night King and Viserion. The Queen and Jon will engage the Night King in the air and try to unseat him so the dragons can kill Viserion. Once this is done, Jon will dismount and take on the Night King in hand to hand combat. This should prevent him from trying to reanimate the dead. Are there any questions?”

Yara Greyjoy speaks up without hesitation, her voice laced with concern. “Yes, is there any way you can guarantee the Night King won’t fly north of the trident again?”

“Again? How do you mean again?” Sansa’s brow furrows in confusion.

Yara turns to Theon, who replies, “We intended to stop by Fairmarket on our way here. We discovered it was burnt to the ground, nothing but a pile of ashes where it used to be. When we investigated a little more, we found ashes of people burned in their beds, as if they were asleep when it happened.”

Edric Dayne turns to them, processing the news, “Could it have been raiders?”

Yara shakes her head at the young lord. “I know dragonfire when I see it. Both my brother and I were in Meereen when the Queen decimated the Master’s fleet with her dragons. That city was burnt to the ground by dragonfire.”

“Then _who_ or _what_ did this?” Lyanna Mormont retorts, looking around the room.

Arianne Martell leans in towards Daenerys, puzzled, “What do you make of this, Your Grace?”

Daenerys counters, her expression indifferent, almost disinterested in the shift of conversation as she avoids making eye contact with everyone. “It has to be Night King. That’s the only reasonable explanation.”

Bran’s mouth twitches at Daenerys’s words. He pauses, thinking twice before he replies. “I’ve kept a close eye on the Night King’s whereabouts. It wasn’t him or Viserion. Perhaps I can revisit what happened in Fairmarket after the battle is over.”

Jon stands up once more, hinting at the conclusion of the meeting. “Thank you Bran. If there aren’t any other questions, we’ll adjourn to our stations. Rest well everyone, we have a long night ahead of us!”

 

***

Swiftly retiring to her chambers, Daenerys stares into the fire once more, the embers reflecting the chill in her eyes. _The time is now. The prophecies are almost complete. Once the dead are defeated, the traitors_ must _be executed quickly if I am to take the throne. The masked woman was right in her prophecies. All I needed was time to deduce who they are…_

Daenerys murmurs to the empty room, pacing. “Quaithe said, ‘three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love . . . . . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love . . . . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . . _”_

_Let’s get this sorted. The fires I light are Drogon for life, Drogo’s pyre for death, Jon to love. The mounts I rode are Daario to bed, Hizdahr to dread, Drogo to love. The treasons I know are Mirri for blood, Jorah for gold, and Jon for love. The only one that’s still a threat is Jon Snow. I loved him and he loved me back once, before the wolf bitch seduced him. It wouldn’t be that hard to throw him off my Rhaegal once victory is all but assured… people make honest mistakes in wars, don’t they?_

Daenerys traces the ashes in the hearth, muttering, “She also said, ‘Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.’”

_The pale mare is the bloody flux that plagued Meereen. The kraken is House Greyjoy, and dark flame is Moqorro the Red priest known as the Black Flame. The lion is almost certainly Cersei, although it could be Tyrion. He’s more distant of late. Best to eliminate them both. The Griffin is Jon Connington, who has quickly become one of Jon Snow’s staunchest supporters. The sun’s son can only be Quentyn Martell. I’ll marry him to secure Dorne and find a way to rid myself of him before he betrays me. The mummer’s dragon is definitely Jon Snow. He looks nothing like a Targaryen, who’s to say all this “evidence” that says he’s my brother’s son is genuine? Lastly, the perfumed seneschal is none other than Varys the Spider: the sole reason I ask Missandei to taste all my food first. He’ll be the first to die._

Tyrion breaks her train of thought, wearily asking. “Your Grace? Apologies but I knocked and you weren’t answering. Did you have need of me?”

She studies his face, noting and ignoring the subdued contempt before facing the fire once more. 

“Yes. Send for the septon and deliver this note to Prince Quentyn. We’re to be wed before the battle begins.”

_Wed and dead before the battle begins…_

 

***

With the Starks, Gendry and Meera gathered in Jon and Sansa’s solar, Bran rubs the back of his neck before looking at the Night King’s mark on his arm. Finding his words slowly, he starts to unravel the twisted threads of centuries past, making sense of everything he’s seen as best he can. 

“The most challenging part of my life as the Three Eyed Raven is to discern _when_ to reveal information without compromising the future I’ve seen in my visions. Before I start on what Arya just learned from the Faceless Man, I looked into who informed the Iron Bank of your parentage Jon. It was Varys. I looked back further to find his intentions as to why he wanted to reveal your claim to the throne. He wrote two letters that day: one to the Iron Bank, the other to Illyrio Mopatis of Pentos. The private conversation we had deeply affected him. Basically, he’s terrified of me, of his death and it killed the Blackfyre restoration he was plotting when he first backed you. His intention in writing to the Iron Bank was to save his own life by giving you their financial backing as proof of his loyalty. Now for the real plotting, there’s no point in delaying this any longer…” 

He takes a sip of ale, exhaling deeply. _I hope this is the right thing._ “There are four major influences reacting to Westerosi politics and manipulating from the shadows. They are the Faceless Men, the Iron Bank, a masked woman named Quaithe, formerly known as Shiera Seastar and lastly, Brynden Rivers also known as Bloodraven, formally the Three Eyed Raven before me.”

Although surprised, they seem to be following well enough. So he continues. 

“The Iron Bank is strictly interested in three things: providing loans, reimbursement in full, and maintaining economic clout in Westeros, either through warfare or structural expansion in peacetime. They sometimes collaborate with the Faceless Men to retrieve their investments by nefarious means. The Faceless Men are religious assassins for hire who worship a god of death known as the Many Faced God. Based in Braavos, they are sent all over Planetos on assignment. One assigned to the North was the first to report the return of the white walkers. The Faceless Men informed the Iron Bank of the white walkers, who commissioned them for an augmented assignment following the death of Robert Baratheon. One was sent to Westeros to complete a series of missions to stabilize political unrest, sustain their influence and prepare an action plan should the Wall be destroyed with magic.”

“Decades upon decades before this, known sorcerer Bloodraven first received visions of Lightbringer, the Prince that was Promised and the Night King long before he was spymaster and Hand of the King. He knew the last living Targaryens would be separated by continent. One would defeat the dead, the other would descend into madness. Bloodraven shared all this with his lover and half sister Shiera Seastar, who as a result, left Westeros for Asshai to become the shadowbinder Quaithe. They communicated across continents through a glass candle, the same way Quaithe communicates to Daenerys. While he manipulated Targaryen politics to ensure the prohectic return of the Prince that was Promised, she used the glass candle to speak with her colleague Marwyn the Mage at the Citadel. When Marwyn was later in Essos, he told the maegi Mirri Maz Duur that she would eventually meet a silver haired Khaleesi named Daenerys. He also instructed her on what needs to be done when they finally meet. Quaithe also retrieved the dragon eggs from Asshai and gave them to Illyrio Mopatis to gift to Daenerys. Marwyn still keeps in communication with Quaithe as Archmaester of the Citadel and was eventually overheard by the Faceless Man sent on assignment to Oldtown, known by some as The Alchemist or Jaqen H’Ghar. Is this making any sense?”

Sansa listens with her eyes closed, taking in the information in stride. Arya looks thoroughly bewildered while Gendry’s jaw is dropped in shock. They all nod, urging him to keep going.

“The Faceless Men sent Jaqen to Oldtown to recover a book called ‘Blood and Fire: The Death of Dragons.’ The information Jaqen learned from spying on Archmaester Marwyn and Quaithe revealed that someone with Stark blood is needed to help defeat the dead because the ancestors of Bran the Builder have a blood tie to the Night King. He also overheard the prophecy of the last two Targaryens. Armed with this information, Jaqen went to King’s Landing to pose as a prisoner who would be sent to the Wall. He met Arya to recruit her for the House of Black and White.” 

Bran faces Arya. “He asked you to kill the dragons but in fact, you were originally recruited to kill the Dragon Queen after the dead are defeated with her dragons. After Harrenhal, he then traveled to Pyke to assassinate Balon Greyjoy on behalf of Euron Greyjoy, in exchange for a dragon's egg the Iron Bank was interested in attaining. Jaqen travels with it, it should be in his possession right now as well as the book. The book serves two purposes: to learn how to kill a dragon and to learn how to hatch one from the Greyjoy egg, to serve as contingency and insurance.” 

He pauses to sip his ale once more. “While Bloodraven called out to me to take his mantle, Quaithe called out to Daenerys in her dreams. She gave her a few prophecies to inspire her to sail for Westeros as well as warnings against disloyalty in order to gain her trust. However, she’s taken this information and rather than using it to accomplish her goal of ending slavery and championing the defenseless, she’s fulfilling the prophecy by losing her sanity. She is the last part of the prophecy spoken by the Ghost of High Heart. This is why Jaqen asked you to kill the dragons. They are her last great weapon. With Daenerys going mad, the southern lords will back Jon as king and the Faceless Men won’t need to destroy her. She’s already doing that to herself. Please be careful Jon. She’s still under the impression she’s chosen by the Gods to rule. That doesn’t mean she won’t try to harm you should the opportunity arise. Be careful Jon. That is all can I say without affecting the future I’ve seen.”

He surveys the room. Meera’s looking at him in wonder. Gendry is openly gawking. Arya’s twirls her dagger in her head, mulling over everything she just learned. Sansa and Jon exchange a look as if they share the same thought before she nods and he faces Bran once more.

“Thank you Bran, for everything. No living person could possibly know everything you just revealed. This wealth of information is exactly what we needed to know. I’ve never been more convinced that everything we’ve done up to now is all we need to defeat the Night King. I’ll keep an eye on Daenerys as well. But I won’t dwell on that now. Life is for the living and I refuse to give the dead any more of my time than they’ve already taken. Let us go celebrate life!”

 

***

In her wildest dreams Brienne never imagined two, nay three things. The first is hers and Jaime’s child, it was something that seemed beyond her reach all her life. Motherhood never truly appealed to her until she found herself with Jaime’s child. The next is Podrick’s singing bringing her tears. Admittedly, he has a beautiful singing voice, but no matter the song, it never moved her in the way it does right now. But then again, she supposes the reason is the very occasion _why_ its being sung. When he finishes, the septon moves back into place and finishes the brief but meaningful ceremony.

Jaime’s hand grasps hers in encouragement as they repeat the words together. “With this kiss I pledge my love”, before she looks into his eyes whispering “… and take you for my lord and husband” to which he boldly declares “ …and I take you for my lady and wife.” Lips joined, they barely hear above the whooping and cheers of the crowd when the septon proclaims them “one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Jaime and Brienne face their witnesses as they rush up to hug and kiss the newlyweds. In the midst of the festivities, Brienne starts to tear up once more. _Bloody changing body making me more emotional. This is my family. The Starks, Podrick, Tyrion… Even the redheaded wildling, once he started behaving more… civilized. My real family. The dead WILL not take this away from me…_

 

***

Meera wheels Bran away after they finish congratulating Jaime and Brienne. With mere hours before the battle, the couple decided on a quiet meal in their chambers, leaving the wedding party to their own private festivities. Within minutes, Arya, Gendry, Jon and Sansa retreat to their respective chambers. Meera turns the corner and they find themselves in front of Bran’s door. Before she starts to leave, Bran clasps her hand in his, quickly stammering out the words,

“Meera, could I speak you in my solar please? There’s something on my mind that cannot wait.”

She smiles. “Of course Bran, let’s go inside.”

She pulls out the chair and faces him, doing her best to hold back a grin, heart beating wildly. _He’s doing it right now. Thank the Gods he’s speaking up before I said anything. He’s finally the person I knew before the Three Eyed Raven and this only confirms that fact…_

Bran runs his hand through his hair, flustered but determined to let nothing stop him from speaking his mind. He starts off slowly, voice now steady in resolve. “When we first reunited, I told you I wouldn’t dare speak my mind until the time is right. In returning to myself and growing closer to you these past few weeks, I’ve learned there _is_ no right time to confess my feelings. The truth is I love you, Meera. When we both survive this, I’m going to ask you to be my wife. Every lifetime the Three Eyed Raven can remember pales in comparison to the moments I share with you. I love you with everything I am.”

“I know.”

“You…know?”

She laughs, holding his head in her hands to plant a chaste kiss. “Of course you adorable fool!! I’ve known since you first brought it up but I needed to hear you say it. With you becoming the Three Eyed Raven, I wasn’t sure who I would be getting if I chose to be with you. I want Bran the man, not the all seeing tree god. Now that I’m sure it’s really you, I’ll say without hesitation… I love you too.”

She leans in as his timid lips meet hers, deepening before they stop to catch their breath. She smirks at the dazed expression on his face, her heart swelling. He’s thoroughly wrecked. She stands up, heading for the door, promptly locking it before facing him once more.His puzzled face flushes bright red in understanding. 

“Let’s continue this conversation in your bedchambers, shall we?”

 

***

Daenerys strolls along the fields with her new husband, watching the moon reclaim its throne in the night sky. Riverrun’s septon wed them quickly in the castle’s tiny sept amongst the lords and ladies of the war council. She refused the traditional feast and bedding ceremony, citing battle preparations as their first priority. The highborn and smallfolk seemed to be of the same mind, keeping the septon busy with spur of the moment wedding ceremonies. Quentyn readily agreed to postpone the bedding ceremony, choosing to go for a walk to visit the dragons over consummating their union. He confessed in terrified tones that he needed time before performing his husbandly duties, as he is deeply uncomfortable around most women and as such, has never taken a lover.

She watches the young prince of Dorne warily, analyzing him with fresh eyes. _He is easily the least handsome of my suitors and husbands_. Short legged and stocky, thickly built, with a plain face, brown hair, brown eyes, and stubble on his cheeks, he walks ahead of her, eager to meet the dragons. His high forehead, broad nose, and square jaw contort into an almost grin at the sight of Drogon. _He might be slightly more handsome if he smiles more, but his smiles don’t come easy._

Quentyn faces her excitedly, his natural caution thrown to the wind as they reach the scorched earth from the dragons latest feed. Yet standing so close to them, she sees he’s trying to stifle his fear. He clears his throat. “Simply singular creatures, aren’t they? Mysteriously clever and highly fickle, what is it about Targaryen blood that calls to them?”

He steps away from the dragons, a deep sigh escapes him. “Daenerys, may I call you that? While people think being the Prince of Dorne is easy living, all my life I’ve been filled with doubts, fears, and insecurities. Until this war. I despise political squabbles and useless wars; I cannot bear the thought of my friends dying for nothing. But this war against the Night King is emotion in its purest form. When faced with life or death, almost everyone puts aside their agendas to realize the precious treasure that is life. Part of my anxieties came from legacy. Not anymore. I won’t be remembered as a failure. By sending my army to fight here alongside yours, I’m doing what’s right for Dorne and all humanity.”

Daenerys forces a tight smile. “Dorne will greatly benefit from our union. My rule, um _our_ rule, will be peaceful yet exacting. You can be the heart, and I will be the firm hand this realm needs to break the wheel that crushes all.”

“Well said, of course Your Grace.” Quentyn turns away again, unable to maintain eye contact for long. “I m-mean, lady wife. I’m not sure if you know this but there is some Targaryen blood in my family’s genealogy.”

She perks up, smile baring her teeth now. “Is that so? Perhaps they’ll allow you on their back then?” She pauses, stifling her eagerness, adding, “You said you have Targaryen blood after all…”

He hesitates. “W-well I ss-supose?” 

Quentyn’s fingers tremble as he reaches out to touch Rhaegal’s leg, feet shuffling slowly towards the closest dragon. Rhaegal looks up to watch uninterestedly before returning to his meal with an exasperated huff. Mildly encouraged, Quentyn heads towards Drogon. Daenerys caresses Drogon’s head while he follows suit. Surprised at the dragon’s inaction, he starts to climb up Drogon’s leg to mount him with growing confidence while Daenerys appears to whisper in Valyrian to the beast. _Perhaps she’s calming him down?_ In what feels like instantly, Quentyn finds himself thrown off Drogon’s back and into the ground as the dragon roars behind him, throat growing red with flame. He scrambles to get up, running back to the castle before the flames engulf him, searing into his sizzling flesh and he screams in agony. 

Daenerys watches intently, nipples hardening in the heat, a delicious shiver of pleasure rushing down her spine to pool at the apex of her thighs at the sound of his screams. _What is it that gives me such pleasure? Is it the screaming? The fire? The smell? Or all of it together? Fairmarket was only the beginning… I know I should be ashamed of the way this alights my body with passion but how can one help the unique preferences that arouse them? How can I give this up when I’ve never felt more alive?”_

A murder of crows flee the scene noisily cawing. She eyes them with suspicion as they head towards Riverrun before her attention returns to the scene. Rhaegal takes to the air, circling above them, chirping his concern. 

 

***

Sansa’s brow is furrowed in concern once they return to their chambers. “How much time do you think we have before…before?”

Jon sighs, removing his boots. “Bran thinks a couple hours, no more than three. Most of the wights are standing in wait all along our barriers awaiting the walkers, who are finally leaving the God’s Eye. Seems they used it like we’re planning to use it. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. All we can do now is wait.”

She joins him in the massive chair in front of the fire as he pulls her up on his lap. “I know we’ve prepared for weeks and I knew this day would come eventually but… I’m not ready Jon. I can be brave for Bran and Arya, for our people, even for our babe but right now its too much to handle. I can’t lose you. If I could, I would fight out there _with_ you, my love.”

He strokes her hair to soothe her, nuzzling her cheek to whisper, “That would be glorious to behold, sweet girl. I just might have to teach you after all this is over… We’ll spar at dusk until the sight of you with your rosy cheeks, sweat clinging to your red curls and your breathless grunts drive me mad with lust. Then I’d hoist you over my shoulder to join me in a steaming bathbefore I sup on your cunt until you lie boneless and satisfied in our bed.”

She leans into his touch, slightly more mollified. “I’m holding you to that. Kill the Night King and come home to me, my love.”

“You can count on that, my Queen.” His fingers sink into her arse, eyes darkening, “Now to make the most of our time together.” He leans into her ear, hands sliding down to pull her closer. “Take your dress off immediately before I rip it off you.”

“NO.” Her voice is firm.

He stops mid stroke, his hand hovering above her hair, perplexed. “What did you just say?”

She peels herself away from him to face him. She can feel her face and body easing into the authority she’ll need to send him to battle with a reminder of what he’s fighting for.

“NO, my love. _I’m_ in charge. I’m sending you off to the battlefield well and truly fucked, which means _I_ decide _how_ you get to ravage me and _when_. Now loosen the strings on my gown so I can remove it when I’m ready. When you’re done taking off your clothes, move the mirror closer to the bed, then sit on the bed with your hands stretched out.”

Frissons of pleasure run down her spine as she feels her gown loosen. _A simple tug and pull will remove my dress…perfect. Thank the Gods he didn’t see what’s under… Everything he’s taught me has brought us to tonight. Courage, Sansa, courage._

She opens the little wooden box next to her side of the bed and pulls out two long pieces of black silk, trying and failing to smother her growing smirk. Their eyes meet in the mirror before her heated gaze shamelessly trails down his lean sculpted form, his cock starting to harden from the longing in her eyes. He notices the way her pupils are blown, her chest rising with each deep breath as her eyes wander along his body. _Gods she’s so gorgeous. Maybe I’m still dreaming. I’ll wake up in my bed at Castle Black, just another brother of the Night’s Watch. What could I have possibly done to deserve her? Fuck was she really wearing THAT underneath her gown the whole day!!_

Sansa shrugs off her gown easily, the material pooling at her legs, delighting at the groans coming from her King. She shivers with glee, her husband clearly approving her choice in garments, or lack of. The black lace smallclothes she spent hours making is drenched with slickness. Her nipples are already aching to be bitten, poking out from underneath the black leather corselet she usually wears above her dresses. She trails the end the silk ribbons along his leg, up his cock and stomach before tying his wrist to the bedpost, smothering a smirk as his eyes light up with realization.

“My love, you remembered!” If his heart could beat out of chest, it would at this moment. Not only is he aroused beyond words, he’s touched she would take the time to make this night extra special for him. 

She blushes, surprised that this man’s simple words of appreciation could affect her like a love stricken maid. “Of course I did, Jon. I remember every fantasy you’ve ever shared, especially the ones you had of us before we married. The one and only rule tonight is you cannot touch me until I allow it.” 

“Oh Gods yes…”

She climbs on his lap, grinding against him while she loosens his hair from its ties. “It’s not the Gods you should be thanking right now Jon.” 

Sansa crushes her lips against his, moaning at the desperation in his kisses. Sucking on his lip, her fingers runs through his curls when she gets a wicked idea. 

She pouts. “My love, these smallclothes are already drenched. Could you please take them off…with your mouth?”

Jon gawks at his lady wife, lust drunk into a stupor. “Yes my Queen, right away!”

Sansa stands on their bed, feeling his groans on her mound as he begins to peel off her smallclothes with his teeth. She wriggles her hips, feeling them slide down until she kicks them off.

She smirks, rubbing herself on Jon’s face. “You have to the count of five to convince me to untie you. Starting now. Oh and also, you cannot peak until my command.”

The rapture with which he laps at her cunt, straining against the ties to gather as much of her in his mouth as he can drives her to the edge far too quickly. She shouts “five” as fast as she can, whispering breathlessly “nice try” before she stuffs him inside her, sighing in relief. He whines in his throat, gritting his teeth to avoid peaking when she sucks kisses on his shoulder, riding him fast and hard. With one last thrust she comes apart on his cock, tightening around him, drawing him in deeper. 

Sated for now, she hops off him and takes him in her mouth, tongue swirling around his girth to gently suck at the tip. Her pleasure steadily mounts again at the sound of his open whimpering, hoping to persuade her with his desperate moans. When he starts to beg her to untie him, she realizes how much her power over him drives her to her peak. _No matter how heady the sensation is though, it pales in comparison to the way I feel when he’s completely unhinged in his passions and cannot help but take me like a wildling. Now that I’ve brought him to that point, it’s time to set him free._

She climbs on top of him once more, her hand lazily stroking his length while she whispers hotly against his neck. “Jon my love, I’ll untie you and allow you to peak on one condition. Take me from behind in front of this mirror. And don’t be gentle.”

The moment both ties are loosened, he gathers her in his arms and throws her onto the bed faced down. His fingers tremble with impatience, unlacing her corselet and ripping it off her in a matter of seconds. He growls when he pulls her hips up and sheaths himself inside her, eyes fixed on hers in the mirror before he strokes inside furiously. She tries to meet his fevered thrusts but he drives himself inside her with such ferocity that she peaks soon after they begin. Between the look of ecstasy on her face and the reflection of their coupling, it doesn’t take him long before he empties himself inside her, length throbbing as he releases his seed as deep as he can go. He can feel it already leaking from within her yet to his shock, he’s still hard with no signs of softening. He leans over to trail kisses down her spine before he flips her over and enters her with his lips locked to hers, languidly stroking inside her, determined to make it last as long as possible. This time, she pulls him with her as they reach their peak together, collapsing in their bed in sleepy satisfaction. They begin to nod off until horns blare in the distance. 

Once. Twice. Thrice. _They’re here._

 

***

The ice spiders were the first attempting to cross the fire barricades first. A few had actually made it past them before a glowing rain of flaming arrows destroyed the first wave that threatened to breach their defenses near Hollow Hill.The second wave, however, took to scattering all along the western front.So Bran’s raven tapped Arya’s hand three times to signal their strike.Gendry gathers her in his arms for one last kiss before lifting her up and onto Nymeria’s back. Another wolf offers its back to Gendry, who finds his balance before snatching the hammer off his back. Weeks of perpetual forging have further strengthened him to the point where he rides with one hand and wield his hammer with the other, like his father before him. First on the battlefield, they and the pack sprint away, taking care keep their kills within the fire barriers, away from the wights and wildfire. The wights swarm along the Red Fork in a frenzy around the barricades, trying to get through as Arya and Gendry lead the pack amassing around the spiders. 

“Arya!!!” Gendry screams from a distance as three white walkers on spiderback approach her from behind. She turns back, riding harder at a full gallop before Nymeria whirls around the face them. She remembers the archer from the Brotherhood. _He said never aim_. _Trust yourself Arya._ With a nimble flick of her wrist, three valyrian arrowheads find their targets and they shatter into icy chunks, setting off a chain reaction of imploding spiders. Bran’s raven returns, cawing twice to signal their retreat back to safety. Their offensive strike worked: the Unsullied and Dothraki completed assembling another barricade while the wights were distracted. Now the Iron Fleet can bombard the dead from the safety of their ships all along the riverbanks. 

The Isle of Faces lies still among the swirl of action around them. After swimming upstream from Blackwater Rush to the God’s Eye, the crannogmen are welcomed by the Children of the Forest and the Green Men. There is little time to lose if they are to carry out the plan hatched by Bran and the Children. Gathering to the spiral in the center of the isle, they fill the space between the stone columns, their chanting growing louder with each repetition, “We swear it by earth and water. We swear it by bronze and iron. We swear it by ice and fire.” They feel the air thicken around them, warmth seeping into their skin while a cool breeze swarms around the stones. The ground shakes and an audible thrum emanates from the stones when, suddenly, a clear, shimmering bubble of light encloses them against the fog, smoke and fire surrounding them. The shield works. The Night King cannot use the dragon to destroy them.

In the sky above the Riverlands the Night King and Viserion bring the fog, the battlefield obscured with a dense cloud blanketing the ground. As soon as Rhaegal and Drogon take to the air after lighting the barriers, every archer, catapult and ballista mercilessly assail the battleground. Jon and Daenerys fly high above the layer of clouds, keeping their distance from each other. With hope, they would give the Night King no other choice but to try to attack them individually.

Maester Vyman stares at the map on the table, “Milord, what is the next move? How do we attack?” His voice brings Bran back to Riverrun. Bran blinks, rapidly summarizing everything he just saw. 

“The shield above the God’s Eye is up. High Heart, Acorn Hall and Harrenhal are all secure for now.The raven at Harrenhal is positioned at the highest peak, I can see most of the battlefield from there. The majority of the ice spiders are eliminated but some are still wandering around. I estimate about one hundred white walkers, all scattered, no more than two or three gathered in clusters. The Unsullied and Dothraki’s barrier is complete, the dragons are in the air. Which means we can start setting off the wildfire pots. All the ships are almost at their designated stations along the river and ready to fire. They’ll eradicate the ones that run away from the fireballs and wildfire. I’ll watch over the dragon fight as well. We’ll keep bombarding them until less than a quarter of their forces remain and all the wildfire caches are set off.” 

A loud boom and a screech in the sky suddenly stops their conversation. Bran and the maester look up see a swirl of fog and fire close by. Bran slides his mind into the nearest raven to find out what’s happening.Between the gnashing teeth and flurry of wings, it’s hard to make out exactly what’s happening but it appears that Viserion, Rhaegal and Drogon are flying head on, clawing at each other. Jon and Rhaegal break free and fly behind Viserion, attempting to kill him from behind while Drogon distracts him. 

The Night King senses this plan and Viserion snaps at Rhaegal, their bodies crashing into each other. Drogon rejoins the melee, snatching Viserion’s leg in his mouth. He shrieks, breaking free and flying away. Bran watches with bated breath. _Is this when it happens? It feels like its too soon. Should I hold off on the signal?_

He sighs in relief, Rhaegal and Drogon are fast on the Night King’s heels, chasing Viserion as they fly towards the God’s Eye. 

Relief dissipates as quickly as it arrives when he hears the screams of men to the west. He flies to Blackwater Rush and finds the spiders are attempting to jump on board the Greyjoy ships. He shifts into the raven next to Arya and signals her and Gendry to ride west with Nymeria’s pack. The spiders need to be eliminated entirely and Arya needs to leave before they can resume lighting up with battlefield. He shifts into each raven posted at their strongholds, furiously tapping DO NOT SET OFF THE WILDFIRE!! He returns to Riverrun to update them before returning to the Greyjoy ships, anxiously watching the soldiers fight to hold off the spider attacks until the wolves arrive. Screeching from the sky reminds him that Jon is fighting for his life above them. Torn between which fight to follow, he reminds himself. 

_I know what I saw. It’ll work out. It_ has _to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2020 Jonsa fam! I’m so looking forward to finishing TNR this year… I never imagined this little headcanon fic I started writing to heal the wounds from the travesty known as Season 7 and 8 would get this kind of reception!! Please know I’m so blessed by every subscriber, kudos, comment you’ve shared with me. Stay tuned for part 2 of the War for the Dawn and the aftermath that follows. On a personal note, I’m in another musical, another semester of college and more leadership roles than I was expecting this year so let me just say in advance I appreciate your patience and trust the last couple chapters will definitely be worth the wait!!


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